


did you mean it (when you said I was pretty)

by blake0tyler



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Just Two Gal Pals Giving Each Other A Striptease, Sharing a Bed, and many more tropes, and they were ROOMMATES, holiday fic, way too late I know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22136560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blake0tyler/pseuds/blake0tyler
Summary: “For fuck’s sake…” Lindsey takes an exasperated breath. “Son, I’m not tense because I haven’t—” Her cheeks flush. “I masturbate, okay!”Emily is only quiet for a second.There is something in her eyes that Lindsey can’t quite grasp, when she says, “I’m not talking about orgasms. I’m talking about…” She moves her hand to Lindsey’s neck, draws a slow finger down Lindsey’s collarbone, watching the way Lindsey shivers. “…this.”:::[ Lindsey is recently single and touch-starved; Emily offers to help ]
Relationships: Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett
Comments: 94
Kudos: 632





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> My New Years’ resolution is to write every possible ship in this fandom. Jk. But while my heart fully belongs to So’Hara, I’ve been absolutely obsessed with everything written by @unbecomings recently, especially their Lindsey/Emily stuff. So, @unbecomings, if you see this, thanks for the inspiration! This one is for you.
> 
> Side note: I really don’t know what this is lol. I feel like I’m a little bit out of it in terms of writing, but hopefully it’s not too bad. I promise the second part will be better. Let me know what you guys think in the comments!
> 
> Title from "1950" by our queen King Princess

Whoever invented Christmas deserved to die—in Lindsey’s opinion, at least.

She tells Emily as much.

“Really?” Emily says. “You’d murder baby Jesus? Just because Russell broke up with you?” She gives Lindsey half a grin from the opposite end of the couch. “Happy holidays to you, too, Linds.”

Lindsey rolls her eyes, kicks Emily’s leg. “Fuck off, I’m miserable.”

—and she _is._

It’s been two weeks.

Two lonely and disastrous weeks since the last of the their long and exhausting conversations about it. Two weeks since Russell told her that _it’s just not working anymore, babe._ That he’s done with arguing about it, with trying, with the continuous back and forth, with always compromising everything for the sake of Lindsey’s career (Emily had looked absolutely _offended_ when Lindsey told her about that after).

And sure—it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

Ever since the last time they’d seen each other, Russell had been distant and unemotional. When Lindsey, in a half-hearted attempt to still save whatever was left, had said that she could try to schedule her life a bit better, he’d just laughed.

Turns out, it wasn’t only that.

It doesn’t even matter whether she’s willing to call more, willing to fly out more often to see him. It doesn’t change a thing, because he’s done with everything. He’s done with Lindsey’s friends, her family, and most importantly, with _her_.

For real this time.

Lindsey swallows hard.

 _Fuck that_.

Who breaks up with someone right before Christmas, anyway?

“Come on,” Emily says, rubbing the spot on her thigh where Lindsey kicked her. “Russell is an asshole.”

Lindsey glares at her.

“What? He is!” Emily’s eyes flicker. “You’re way too good for him.”

Lindsey’s mouth goes a little tight at the words. “That’s not true,” she mumbles, fingers toying with the draw strings of her hoodie. “Not even good enough, apparently.”

She can see the way it gets to Emily, the brief second of shock, where she just stares back at Lindsey like Lindsey has completely lost her mind, and then the instant frustration that falls over her—the protectiveness, the _fight_.

“Are you kidding me?” Emily says with narrowed eyes, leaping forward on the couch, up into Lindsey’s space, grabbing her shoulder a little too hard. “Russell was absolutely _useless_. Don’t even try that with me. You’re a fucking catch and all he’ll ever be is a scared little boy who doesn’t know how to handle himself around powerful women.”

Lindsey swallows. 

Emily’s fingers go even tighter, hooked into the fabric of Lindsey’s jersey, and Lindsey flinches a bit. “Seriously. Don’t say that again.”

Lindsey’s face feels hot.

She tries to shove Emily off, tries to ignore the way it gets to her a little bit, even through all the hurt—that Emily is saying it with so much conviction, with so much love.

But then Russell’s face flashes through her mind again, her breath catching abruptly in her throat and, before she can stop herself, she chokes out, “But what about Christmas?”

It sounds small.

Emily breathes out slowly, loosens her grip on Lindsey’s shoulder and rubs comforting circles instead. Somehow, it makes Lindsey feels worse. She tries to move away from Emily’s touch, tries to wrap her arms around herself instead.

“It’s not Christmas for another month,” Emily says. “You’ll be fine.”

“Three and a half weeks,” Lindsey mumbles, fighting the tears that are burning behind her eyes. “Christmas is in three and a half weeks, Son.”

“I know.” Emily’s face softens a bit. “But that’s plenty of time to get over your loser ex-boyfriend.” She makes a face. “Russell, who? I don’t even remember him.”

Lindsey laughs.

It’s a stupid joke—a weak one even, but she laughs anyway, teary eyes and all.

:::

Forcing herself to get into the Christmas spirit without feeling any excitement for it, turns out to be a good enough distraction for a while.

Lindsey spends extensive time decorating, wrapping presents, and arranging when and how to see her family. She lets Caitlin and Ellie drag her to coffee dates, watches dumb but entertaining Christmas movies on Netflix. She tries to smile.

And it works.

For the most part it works.

But not completely.

Every time she closes her eyes, she can’t help but picture being at home this year _without_ Russell, how empty it will feel. Every time she scrolls past his contact info on her phone, it’s like a tiny stab to the stomach. Every single morning, she wakes up and stands in the kitchen, leaning back against the kitchen counter with her phone in her hand, trying not to go on Instagram.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop doing that?”

Lindsey jerks at the sound. “What?”

Emily gives her a pointed look. “Linds…”

She shoves her phone in the front pocket of her hoodie, wrapping both her hands out around her cup of coffee, embarrassed. “I’m not texting him or anything.”

Emily just stares at her, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I swear I’m not!” Lindsey says.

Emily shrugs. “If you say so. Any coffee left?”

Lindsey is biting down on her lip, still feeling a little bit caught when Emily pushes past her, leaning over her shoulder to grab a cup from the cupboard behind Lindsey’s head. For a second, she is _close._ Close enough that Lindsey can smell the eucalyptus of Emily’s conditioner—the one Emily once stole from her and then never gave back. Close enough to feel the heat of Emily’s body right next to hers as she rummages through the cupboard.

It startles her.

She moves back a little bit, fingers curling tight around the edge of the kitchen counter.

Emily frowns at the abrupt movement, pushes back with a mug in her hand and then grins a little bit. “You’re jumpy.”

Lindsey steps sideways, away from Emily. She doesn’t know why but for some reason it feels like she’s blushing. She blames it on her high intake of caffeine. Deflecting, she says, “What are you doing today?”

“No idea,” Emily says, and then, she’s right back next to Lindsey, leaning across her _again_ , this time to grab the French press on her other side. “You?”

Her bare arm brushes against Lindsey’s, lingers there for longer than necessary.

Lindsey feels frozen in place.

“No plans,” she mumbles, a little late.

When Emily steps away, full cup of coffee in her hands, she’s grinning. “Speaking of plans,” she says. “How is that whole getting over Russell thing going, anyway?”

Lindsey narrows her eyes. “Son, I’m not texting him. I told you.”

“No, I mean the _really_ getting over him thing.” Emily leans forward, puts her hand on Lindsey’s elbow, and then says with a teasing smirk, “You know, ancient wisdom tells us that the best way to get over someone—” Oh, God. “—is to get under someone else.”

Emily’s fingers are hot against Lindsey’s skin.

Lindsey coughs. “I’m pretty sure that’s a _Friends_ reference.”

Emily only grins wider. She glances at the spot where her fingers are brushing softly over Lindsey’s arm, doesn’t take her hand back, and Lindsey feels impossibly, annoyingly distracted by it. She barely even hears it when Emily says, “In the spirit of Christmas, I think you need to rebound.”

At that, Lindsey’s throat goes dry. “What?”

Emily shrugs. “You need to get your mind off of things. Besides, you’re being weird about this.”

“You’re being weird!” Lindsey fires back and Emily’s eyebrows shoot up “You’re the one ambushing me at 8 in the morning—”

“No,” Emily cuts in. “You’re being weird about _this_.”

For a second, Lindsey’s mind goes blank, but then, Emily runs her fingers lower, moves them right over Lindsey’s pulse on the inside of her wrist, smirks when Lindsey startles again at the touch.

Abruptly, she pulls her arm back. “I’m fine.”

“Every time I touch you, you react like this.”

Lindsey sputters. “Yeah, well, you’re touching me in a weird way.”

Emily chuckles. “Should we stop saying weird? It’s starting to sound a bit _weird_ , don’t you think?”

Lindsey exhales hard. “You’re such an idiot.”

Emily just wiggles her eyebrows. “And you need to get laid.”

Rather than responding, Lindsey simply pushes Emily out of the way and heads for the couch. It’s too early to deal with any of this. She curls herself into the corner and turns on the tv. After a moment, Emily drops down next to her. She doesn’t bring it up again, but all day, Lindsey is distracted, anyway.

:::

The thing is—

Emily is kind of right.

Not about the getting-laid thing. If she’s completely honest with herself, Lindsey can admit that sex with Russell wasn’t all that great to begin with. She doesn’t exactly miss it. It was fine, but for the most part, Lindsey’s not really reminiscing about any of that. She can take care of herself; both mentally and… physically.

But the touching—that’s been a little bit more difficult.

It’s like her body has been playing tricks on her.

Every time someone even steps close, Lindsey is startled by it, feels the need to move back. She doesn’t really know why. Part of it is physical; the lack of sleep, the way the off-seasons always mess with her physiology a little bit.

But then—

The thought of her body, of anyone touching her body, makes her feel impossibly stressed. No matter if it’s just small touches. No matter if it’s just a hand on her shoulder, someone’s arm brushing against hers.

She just doesn’t want anyone close.

Not when all it seems to do is emphasize her loneliness. Not when it makes her feel tense, like she’s taking up too much space. Not when the last person to be soft with her is—

It’s not even about Russell, though.

Not really.

All of that had been exhausting, and Lindsey is starting to see a little bit more clarity about the break-up in her head.

It’s just that—

It’s like she doesn’t know how to be touched anymore.

Not without feeling like she doesn’t deserve any of it. 

:::

Emily takes her Christmas tree shopping.

The more she thinks about it, the more Lindsey can’t believe they haven’t gotten one for their apartment yet. With Christmas one and a half week away, she’s sure the nicest ones will be gone already, but she’s wrong.

Emily is humming _All I Want For Christmas Is You_ as they attempt to tie the tree to the roof of the car, keeps making jokes that have Lindsey cracking up and losing all the strength in her biceps, so it takes them a while.

Still, Lindsey feels better than she has in ages.

Emily keeps making her smile. She’s looking really good in her Adidas gear today, Lindsey notices; the tight leggings, the sneakers. She’s got her hair down for once and the black hoodie is making her eyes seem bluer, somehow. Lindsey leans against the window of the passenger’s seat and studies her with a smile.

“What?” Emily says, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, glancing over. “Why are you staring at me like that? Do I have coffee on my nose or something?”

“I like your hoodie,” Lindsey says, keeping her eyes on Emily. “You look good.”

Emily laughs. “Oh?”

“I know,” Lindsey continues with a grin. “It’s a true Christmas miracle and it’s not even Christmas yet.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Emily tries to swat at Lindsey’s arm. “I always look good and you know it.”

“Hands on the wheel!”

“Say it!”

Lindsey shrieks a little, tries to push Emily’s arm back. “Keep your fucking hands—”

“Say it, Lindsey. Say that I always—”

“You always look good!” Lindsey rushes out. “You always look good!”

Emily grins wide, putting her hand back on the steering wheel. “All right, all right. No need to shout.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “I know you’re recently single and all. But you can’t try to flirt your way into my pants while we’re driving, okay? Safety first, Linds.”

Lindsey huffs. “You wish.”

She tries to swat Emily back but Emily, laughing, catches the movement from the corner of her eye, and grabs a hold of Lindsey’s wrist—and then, accidentally, her hand.

One moment, they’re struggling to overpower the other, next, their fingers are linked.

Lindsey pulls her hand back so quickly that she nearly knocks over Emily’s water bottle, which is standing behind the console between them.

Her face feels warm.

She doesn’t know why.

Emily is still grinning, saying, “You might have to get in line, though, Linds—a lot of girls are really into my holiday vibe, you know?”

“Shut up,” Lindsey mumbles, but it sounds weirdly hoarse. “Your holiday vibe? You sing every single song off-key and your apartment doesn’t even have a Christmas tree.” 

“ _Yet,_ ” Emily corrects. “It doesn’t have a Christmas tree _yet_. Which we’re taking care off right now. Besides, I know how to keep a girl warm during a cold winter.”

Lindsey is stunned into silence.

For a moment, Emily maintains her composure. But then she glances sideways with a teasing, cocky smirk, and Lindsey—

God.

Lindsey wants to smack her.

“You wish,” she says, _again_ , and Emily laughs like she can somehow sense that Lindsey is out of good comebacks because her mind is very occupied with trying not to—

Not to picture—

“Maybe _you_ wish,” Emily responds with a grin, and Lindsey scoffs.

It doesn’t even make sense that her skin feels this hot, that she can barely string together a coherent sentence. Usually, she can handle conversations about sex just fine. She can handle Emily’s stupid innuendo jokes. Emily is her best friend and Lindsey’s not even really into—

Well, whatever.

It’s probably because of the break-up.

“Just get us home,” she says, not realizing how it sounds until… “ _No_. That’s not what I meant!”

Emily can’t stop laughing.

:::

One and a half bottle of red and one poorly-decorated Christmas tree later, they’re on the couch—loosened a little by the alcohol and admiring their half-assed work.

“Those string lights are totally going to fall off,” Emily says, reaching forward to grab the bottle off the table, pouring some more in her glass. “Want me to top you?”

Lindsey abruptly chokes on her wine.

Emily’s eyes are bright and teasing as she takes in Lindsey’s reaction. She waits a second too long before saying, “Top up your wine, I mean.”

Lindsey is too busy coughing to reply. She just puts down her glass and the table and pushes it vaguely in Emily’s direction, willing her blush to go away.

Desperate to deflect as quickly as possible from the fact that she nearly had a full-on heart attack, she stutters out, “So, are you ready to go home?”

“God, no.” Emily laughs. “I mean, it’s nice to see everyone, but holidays are stressful.”

“You think?”

Emily nods. “All the forced family interactions, the awkward questions.” Lindsey hums. That’s kind of true. She opens her mouth, but before she can verbally agree, Emily adds, “Besides—I’ll miss you.”

That shuts Lindsey up a little bit.

“Yeah?” she says, then.

Emily—who is maybe a little bit drunker than Lindsey figured—nods. She falls a little bit deeper into the couch and says, “Yeah, it’ll be weird. We’ve seen each other so much.”

It burns deep in Lindsey’s chest. She can’t stop her smile. It sounds a bit too fond when she says, “It’s only for two weeks.”

Emily pouts a little bit. “But New Year’s Eve…”

They’ve got a party planned.

Well—Lindsey and Ellie and Caitlin have a party planned. Emily will be at home; she’d already booked her flight before they came up with the idea. Lindsey will only be in Colorado for a week, flying right back to Portland after Christmas to celebrate New Year’s with her friends.

She feels a smile tug at the corner of her lips. “You could always come home early? If you really wanted.”

Emily’s eyes lock on hers and for a second it’s almost like something passes between them—something soft and just a little bit electric.

Then, Emily’s face changes. She grins, takes another sip of her wine. “Thought you would enjoy having the place to yourself for a while.” She rolls her eyes at Lindsey’s blank expression. “You _know_ … The season of joy and all that…”

Emily cocks her eyebrow, and instantly, all of Lindsey’s fondness disappears.

She doesn’t know why—maybe it’s the timing, maybe it’s the fact that it feels way too much like a repetition of other conversations.

“Not this again—” she starts.

“ _Linds_ ,” Emily says, a little desperate. “You need to get over him!”

“I am,” Lindsey snaps, and Emily flinches at the sharpness. “I am getting over him. I’m fucking trying, okay!”

There must be something in her voice, because Emily’s eyes widen. “No, I know. I know, I’m sorry.”

She moves closer, puts her hand on Lindsey’s arm. Lindsey jerks at the touch. Emily’s mouth parts and she holds her hand back, before frowning and putting her fingers on Lindsey’s bare arm, anyway. She’s wearing a faded gray Henley with the sleeves pushed up, and Emily’s touch is barely there, but still, Lindsey has to swallow hard, suddenly distracted.

“I’m just saying…” Emily says. “You’ve been so tense.”

“So?” Lindsey says, a little too quickly. “It’s December—everyone is stressed.”

Emily gives her a look, runs her hand slowly up the side of Lindsey’s arm. “Maybe you need some attention.”

“For fuck’s sake…” Lindsey takes an exasperated breath. “Son, I’m not tense because I haven’t—” Her cheeks flush. “I masturbate, okay!”

Emily is only quiet for a second.

There is something in her eyes that Lindsey can’t quite grasp, when she says, “I’m not talking about orgasms. I’m talking about…” She moves her hand to Lindsey’s neck, draws a slow finger down Lindsey’s collarbone, watching the way Lindsey shivers. “… _this._ ” 

Lindsey’s breath catches in her throat.

Emily is close—closer than she was before. The one part of Lindsey that can still think clearly wonders whether Emily can feel the way her heartbeat races, feel it against the tips of her fingers, still pressed against the base of Lindsey’s neck.

“You’re…” Emily starts saying, before backtracking. She looks right up at Lindsey when she says, “Is this okay?”

Lindsey licks at her bottom lip.

She suddenly feels impossibly nervous.

“Is what okay?” she mumbles.

Emily’s eyes flicker in the low light. “This,” she says, stroking her fingers over Lindsey’s skin with more purpose. “Touching you like this.”

It feels insanely intimate. Too much, way too much. Her body is locked in the tension, but the last thing Lindsey wants is for Emily to know. Instead, she plays it off. “Of course,” she says, laughing a breathy laugh. “Why wouldn’t it be? You can touch me. I’m totally fine.”

Emily gives her a look, and then she moves her hand to Lindsey’s shoulder, pressing her thumb to the hollow above her collarbone, massaging the muscle slowly.

Lindsey draws in a breath, closes her eyes, lets it happen.

For a moment, nothing really changes. Emily’s hand is warm against her skin. The angle isn’t any good for massaging, but still, the steady feeling of pressure against Lindsey’s shoulder calms her down a little bit.

She still has her eyes closed, not really wanting to see Emily’s face, when she hears herself say, “Why do you want me to have sex with someone so badly, anyway?”

Emily is quiet.

“I don’t,” she says, then. Her hand drops from Lindsey’s shoulder and Lindsey’s eyes snap open, just in time to watch the way Emily glances down, fumbling with the hem of her sweater as she adds, “I just want you to feel good about yourself.”

It’s the wine.

That’s what Lindsey figures; why everything suddenly feels like it’s burning.

(It _has_ to be the wine that has got Emily saying things like this in the first place.)

“What—” she stammers. “What do you mean?”

Emily grabs her glass from the table again, not looking at Lindsey. “I fucking hate him, you know? Russell.”

It’s such a switch that Lindsey can only blink.

Emily doesn’t seem to notice. “I hate that he’s got you all—” She waves vaguely. “All stressed out like this. That he fucked with your feelings and your self-esteem. And that for weeks you haven’t been able to let anyone as much as _hug_ you. I hate it, because you’re…” She takes a breath. “You should feel good. About everything. About how you look and how you feel and about the fact that people want to be close to you.”

Lindsey doesn’t register the tears until they are already burning behind her eyes. She swallows thickly. “Sonny…”

“I could help.”

All Lindsey can do is stare.

There’s the faintest hint of a blush on Emily’s cheeks, although maybe that is also the wine.

“What?” Lindsey manages to get out eventually.

Emily doesn’t say anything. All she does is reach up her hand slowly, bringing it forward to touch her palm to Lindsey’s cheek. She strokes a thumb over Lindsey’s cheekbone, and Lindsey can’t stop it—she moves into the touch. It’s a weird mix of tension and comfort, but somehow, with all her feelings tight and painful in her chest, it still feels good. Emily’s eyes widen slightly, like she notices.

And then she says, a bit more pointedly. “Maybe I could help. To make you feel a bit more comfortable.” Lindsey’s eyes go really wide, and Emily immediately stutters out, “N-not like that. I mean—I just mean with, like, casual touches. If you—if you wanted me to. To help you relax a little bit. Make you feel less tense.”

Lindsey’s bites down on her lip.

She takes an unsteady breath, feeling equal parts soothed and stressed.

And then she nods. “Yeah, okay.”

:::

Nothing changes—not right away, at least.

All that happens after their conversation, is that they finish the second bottle of wine and try to prank call Rose, which doesn’t work. Emily squeezes Lindsey’s hand only once, right before she gets up off the couch, and then she disappears into her own bedroom, like always.

Lindsey is not sure what she’s feeling. She doesn’t know what she expected. Did she want them to hug, maybe? Cuddle on the couch? What does _helping_ even mean?

She falls into a restless sleep.

Next morning, they have coffee in the kitchen, joke around, play FIFA, get groceries, go for a run. They have dinner at this new place that Emily has been wanting to check out, and then, somehow, they end up at the movie theater.

It’s a nice place; small, with a warm art house vibe—the kind of place where they have string lights across the rooms and couches instead of regular cinema seats. But they clearly don’t have too much pride to refuse showing very commercial re-runs of great holiday movies. Which is how they end up watching _Home Alone_ —apparently one of the favorites in the Sonnett household, judging by the way Emily’s face absolutely _lights up_ as she pulls Lindsey into the theater. 

Lindsey doesn’t really have any strong opinions about the movie.

Sure, it’s funny enough, if she lets herself get into the gimmick of it. But what’s even funnier, is how much Emily loves the movie. It’s addictive—to hear her laugh like that.

But right when Lindsey is starting to think this is just another movie night, that Emily might have forgotten about their semi-drunk discussion altogether, Emily puts her arm across the back of the two-seater they’re in.

Her fingers are soft, only barely brushing against Lindsey’s shoulder, drawing mindless patterns. But Lindsey still freezes a little bit at the initial touch.

She glances sideways. Emily’s face is still on the movie but she gives Lindsey’s shoulder the slightest tap, just for a second—as if to say _relax._ As if to say _it’s just me._

Lindsey takes a steadying breath and Emily’s arm falls heavier around her.

She leans into it, into the comfy fabric of Emily’s hoodie, into the curve of her arm. For half a moment, she feels too big for this, feels that she takes up too much space to have Emily’s arm wrapped around _her_ instead of the other way around.

But Emily is soft and warm.

She is grinning at the movie, comfortable and close—close enough for Lindsey to feel the heat of her proximity, to catch the faint smell of some new fragrance Lindsey had watched Emily put on before they left the apartment to go out for dinner.

Lindsey’s heart is racing fast. She’s not paying any attention to the movie anymore.

It’s like Emily can feel it, because she turns her head to study Lindsey. “You okay?” Her voice is soft and low.

Lindsey nods, distracted by the way Emily’s eyes are gleaming in the flashes of light from the screen. “Yeah,” she hears herself say. And then, “I like your perfume.”

She doesn’t know what prompts her to say it.

Emily’s smile makes Lindsey’s stomach twist in a weird way.

She quickly turns her face back to the screen, hoping Emily can’t see her flushed cheeks. Emily doesn’t say anything, just pulls Lindsey a little bit closer.

The rest of the movie passes in a blur.

::: 

Russell texts her.

It’s the night before Lindsey’s flying home, and they’re cooking dinner. Lindsey is just reaching over to grab her phone from the docking station to put on a different playlist—and just like that, like a knife to the chest, his name flashes across her screen.

Lindsey stops dead in her tracks.

Her fingers are trembling as she takes her phone out of the speaker, ignoring Emily’s groan of protest, eyes skipping so fast over the messages that she can only catch fragments; _miss you, wanted to talk, been thinking about—_

Emily yanks her phone out of her hand.

Lindsey’s whole body is shaking.

There’s a weird sort of static in her ears, and she stumbles a little bit, doesn’t really dare to look at Emily—doesn’t want to see the anger, doesn’t want Emily to see _her_ , trembling and caught off guard, just because of a few _text_ _messages_ , getting closer to crying with every passing—

Emily’s arms are around her before she realizes it. She hums into Lindsey’s neck, breath ghosting over her skin. “I got you. You’re good.”

“I’m—” Lindsey tries to say. “I’m fine—I’ll be fine in a second. I don’t need—”

“Shut up,” Emily says.

Lindsey stops talking.

All she can feel is the press of Emily’s fingers to her back, the way her nose is grazing Lindsey’s shoulder. She focuses on that, focuses on the steady up and down of Emily’s ribs, so close to her own, focuses on the way Emily’s hand moves up to her face, slowly pushing Lindsey’s hair back, stroking her fingers through it.

“I’m fine,” she says again, and this time it’s a bit more true. “Really. I was just shocked. I didn’t think—I’m not upset because of—” She wants to say _him_ , but for some reason she can’t get the words out.

“I know,” Emily says, voice muffled against Lindsey’s shoulder. “Just—Linds, just stop moving for a second.”

She breathes in slowly, does as Emily says.

There are fly-away hairs from Emily’s top bun that tickle a little bit against the side of her neck, but she doesn’t mind. She closes her eyes. She doesn’t really know for how long they keep standing there, Emily simply holding her and stroking her back softly. She leans into it for as long as she needs it, anyway.

:::

Later, Lindsey is biting her lip, sitting on her bed and contemplating how to ask Emily without sounding _needy_ about it.

“You’re such a disaster. You could have done this a week ago!”

So far, the only thing she’s been able to come up with is using the fact that she still needs to pack her suitcase—including the entire pile of Christmas presents that she really should have tried to purchase in Colorado—as an excuse to keep Emily in her room.

Lindsey grins. “But then I wouldn’t be able to see you struggle like this.”

Emily huffs, face red from the effort it takes to try and slot everything in place. “Tell me why I’m friends with you again? You’re not even _pretending_ to help me. I’m doing all your work!”

“Yeah, but you love me,” Lindsey says easily.

Only when Emily pauses, her hands on her hips, looking back at Lindsey with a smile that curls low in Lindsey’s stomach, does she feel her cheeks start to flush.

“That’s what you think,” Emily says, with an easy grin. “Your parents are actually paying me to hang out with you. It’s all charity work.”

Lindsey flips her off, but then gets up to help Emily try and get the suitcase closed. Together, they eventually manage to zip everything inside. Lindsey’s flight is early in the morning. She’ll be gone before Emily will wake up. Unless—

Lindsey bites her lip again, feeling suddenly nervous.

“Right,” Emily says. “Guess I’ll see you in the new year, then.”

They stare at each other for a moment.

“Sleep here?” Lindsey blurts out.

Emily blinks. “What?”

“Do you—uh—” She fumbles, looks down. “You could sleep here. Tonight.”

Emily’s eyes narrow a bit. “Linds, you have to get up at, like, 5…”

“Yeah, but—”

“And you want to force me to get up at that ungodly hour just so that I can sleep in your bed tonight?”

Lindsey can feel the heat moving up from her chest to her neck. “No, but—”

Emily’s face breaks into a grin. “I’m fucking with you.” She leans back into the pillows, grinning even wider. “Well, not yet, but with a proposition like that…”

That snaps Lindsey out of it.

She smacks a pillow against Emily’s legs. “You suck. I hate you.”

Emily just laughs and Lindsey has to try very hard not to let Emily’s stupid joke get to her, to pretend her heart isn’t racing at the thought of… of… _that._

Instead, she watches the way Emily gets comfortable in her bed; the easy way with which she pulls her hoodie over her head, kicks off her jeans, dropping them unceremoniously on Lindsey’s floor.

She pulls her hair out of the bun. “You coming?”

Lindsey’s throat is really dry.

There’s an electric sort of thought rushing through her mind that makes her want to say something witty. Makes her want to flick up her eyes to meet Emily’s and say _Someone’s eager_ or _Didn’t know you wanted me that much, Em_ , the words already so close to the tip of her tongue, for God knows what reason, but—

“We still have to brush teeth,” she says instead.

Emily rolls her eyes, but then smiles, pushes the covers back again and gets up. “Whatever. Be the responsible one.”

It’s seems so _normal._

Standing in their bathroom side by side, brushing teeth. It should be fine. They’re friends. They do this all the time.

Except—they don’t.

Not like this. Not with Emily meeting Lindsey’s eyes in the mirror once every ten seconds, smirking around her toothbrush. Not with Lindsey trying hard to focus on anything but the fact that Emily is in her underwear—and is clearly planning on sleeping in Lindsey’s bed like that.

She doesn’t even know why she’s asked.

She can’t think of any good reason.

(Just the fact that Lindsey is leaving tomorrow to celebrate Christmas at home, and that she won’t see Emily until the first week of January; just the fact that she’s not ready to call it a night yet; that she wants Emily close; that now that Lindsey’s given Emily some sort of free pass to give her physical comfort whenever she wants it, she suddenly _needs_ it—like all the time).

Emily spits out her tooth paste, rinses her mouth before saying, “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Lindsey says, too quick. She puts her toothbrush away.

Emily smirks. “No?”

She nudges Lindsey with her hip, and it’s nothing, really, it should be _nothing_. But the movement drags Lindsey’s gaze down in the mirror, and Emily’s hips are pretty much bare, and Lindsey is so acutely aware of it that she—

It feels like something is tipping over.

She bites down on her bottom lip, then blurts out, “This feels kind of domestic.” And then, because Emily is giving her a _look_ , she adds in a sort of rush, “Haven’t really done this since Russell.”

“What?” Emily’s smile is slow. “Brushed teeth with someone?”

“Slept with someone.”

At that, Emily’s eyes lock on hers and for a second, Lindsey swears there’s something kind of flustered in her expression. But then Emily smirks again, and says, “Told you I can keep a girl warm in the winter.”

Lindsey exhales hard, shakes her head in disbelief. Still, she can’t stop her smile. With some weird sort of bravery, she bumps her hip back against Emily’s. “Oh yeah? Sounds like you need to prove something.”

She walks back into her bedroom before Emily can respond, and then—because her bravery vanishes just as quickly as it came—she flips the lights off right away and crawls under the covers.

She can hear Emily shuffle in behind her.

“Oh,” Emily says, and then, “Didn’t think you’d be a lights off kind of girl, but I can work with it.”

“Just fucking get in here,” Lindsey mumbles, pushing her face deeper in the pillow, even though Emily can’t possibly see her blush.

There’s a bit of stumbling, a lot of swearing as Emily nearly knocks into Lindsey’s suitcase, which is still in the middle of the room, but then, the mattress dips and Lindsey can feel Emily slide into the bed behind her.

She holds her breath.

“Did you put an alarm?” Emily says.

Lindsey hums yes, and then it’s quiet.

She’s got her back to Emily so she can’t really see anything, but there’s a lot of space between them, and Lindsey feels tense all over. Her muscles are kind of locked, and her breathing is shallow. She can feel that Emily is not super comfortable either; that she doesn’t really know what to do, and Lindsey is cursing herself internally. Because she wants it, but—

“Are you sure this is fine?” Emily says, cutting through her thoughts. “I mean, I can—uh—I can sleep in my own bed.”

Lindsey shakes her head, before realizing that Emily can’t see it.

“No,” she says. “No, sorry. I just… I don’t know… how, um—” She stammers a bit.

“Do you want me to cuddle you?” Emily says, then, and it’s so unexpectedly soft all of a sudden that Lindsey feels her throat close off with the rush of emotions.

She takes a breath, counts to three in her head, then reaches her hand back, finding Emily’s hip.

“Oh,” Emily says, “Oh. Okay.”

She shuffles closer, kind of awkwardly. Lindsey feels like her body is going to overheat under the blankets. For a moment, she considers opening the window, but she stays still. Emily’s hand is slow as it moves to rest on Lindsey’s hip.

“Is this—”

“Yes,” Lindsey cuts her off.

 _It’s more than okay_ , she wants to say.

Emily’s arm falls closer around her, her breath a little shaky, barely brushing against the back of Lindsey’s neck. It takes them a moment to get comfortable. Lindsey still feels too hot all over and Emily seems to be uncertain of her movements. But then, after a moment of both of them just twisting and turning, Emily’s mumbles, slight frustration barely contained, “Stop fidgeting,” and presses her body against Lindsey’s for real.

That does it.

Emily’s leg slots between Lindsey’s a bit abruptly and she shoves the arm that is not curled around Lindsey’s hip under the pillow, holding Lindsey really close and really tight, linking their fingers—and then Lindsey can feel Emily’s breathing properly against her skin, can smell Emily’s skin, can feel the heat slow down between them.

She’s—

Lindsey is not sure what is happening.

Emily’s thumb draws softly over Lindsey’s knuckles, and the thing is—

Russell never used to do that. Russell would fall asleep so fast, it barely even mattered whether Lindsey was there or not.

“Em,” she whispers.

“Yeah?” Emily says. It causes a shiver to run down Lindsey’s spine.

She doesn’t know how to say it, doesn’t know how much of this she is even allowed to achknowledge, doesn’t know why the fuck she keeps comparing Emily and Russell in the first place.

Emily doesn’t press her to keep talking.

Instead, she widens her hand over Lindsey’s stomach, sighing a little, before mumbling, “You’re so hot.”

Lindsey stills.

And then Emily’s voice, suddenly hoarse, breaks through the silence, “I meant your skin… your… uh, temperature—” She makes a sound that is almost embarrassed. “Really, I swear I meant your temperature. Not that—not that you’re not—I mean, you’re _also_ —”

Lindsey’s stomach flips so hard she can barely suppress a sound.

She can’t stop her grin. “So smooth,” she mumbles.

Emily presses her face down, closer to Lindsey’s shoulder, actually embarrassed, and Lindsey _revels_ in it.

She pokes Emily with her toe kind of teasingly, and Emily scoffs.

She doesn’t say anything, but she does wrap herself even closer around Lindsey’s body, almost like she wants to physically stop Lindsey from teasing her any further. She drags her nose over the back of Lindsey’s neck, slides her hand an inch higher on Lindsey’s stomach, and—

It’s effective enough.

Lindsey bites down on her bottom lip.

For long moments, they stay like this, not saying anything. Lindsey is completely zoned in on the feeling of Emily close like this; the warmth of her soft skin against Lindsey’s own; the feeling of Emily’s breath against her hair.

She closes her eyes, willing her mind to go quiet.

It’s not until Emily’s breathing begins to even out, that hers does, too. Absentmindedly, she leans back even more into Emily’s embrace.

Emily’s body is slowly going heavy with sleep, and Lindsey can’t help herself.

“Feels good,” she mumbles. “This feels good with you.”

She’s not sure Emily has heard her, but then she feels soft pressure at the top of her spine. Lindsey falls asleep with Emily’s lips pressed against the back of her neck, and right before she drifts off she has the thought that it’s not exactly a kiss, but it’s not really anything else, either.


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> If you look at the added tag, you’ll know what you’re in for. 
> 
> What have I done. 
> 
> Somehow this was supposed to be a cute holiday fic but now has too many Fifty Shades of Grey references in it and needs a third chapter for the plot to actually become conclusive beyond the point of these two just being absolute idiots around each other.

Lindsey wakes up before the alarm.

For a second, she hates that this happens; light sleep and anxiety about having to catch an early flight keeping her from getting those extra minutes. But then she becomes aware of _how_ she’s waking up, and all thoughts about her alarm vanish instantly.

Emily is lying on her back in the middle of Lindsey’s bed, breathing slowly, pressed down into the mattress by the weight of Lindsey’s body curled around her. Abruptly, Lindsey’s skin heats up everywhere at once. Her heart picks up speed like she’s doing line sprints during practice. She wills her body to stay still, scared that the slightest movement will wake Emily up, too.

_Fuck._

A little bit of spooning last night was one thing.

This—

Lindsey runs hot at the position they’re in. Emily’s shirt has ridden up in the night, probably from the way Lindsey apparently felt the need to push herself completely into Emily’s space somewhere in the last few hours, leg wrapped around Emily’s hip and all. The realization is mortifying enough. But what’s worse is that her hand is dangerously high on Emily’s ribs, so high that she’s basically, well she’s basically—

Her thumb is on the tip of Emily’s sternum and her fingers are brushing the slight curve of Emily’s boob.

_Fuck fuck fuck._

Lindsey bites down so hard on her lip that it hurts, then draws back her hand as swiftly and with as much control as she can handle, trying not to startle Emily. She rests her hand on Emily’s shoulder instead, and at the change, Emily makes a sleepy kind of noise, turning her body just the slightest bit into Lindsey’s direction.

Lindsey takes a shaky breath.

Her mind is racing, shifting so quickly between thoughts that she can barely distinguish between one and the other—the fact that Emily isn’t wearing a bra, that Lindsey woke up pretty much feeling her up, the fact that Emily isn’t wearing a fucking bra and Lindsey was _feeling her up._

She feels like she’s trembling.

But then—

For one moment, she allows herself to take a breath and look.

It’s dark, but Lindsey is close, really close, and Emily looks so… _soft._ Her lips are slightly parted, chest rising up and down with her breathing. Her top bun has fallen out in the night, completely messed up by the pillow; thin, blonde flyaway hairs tickling Emily’s temples and the tip of Lindsey’s nose.

All it would take for Lindsey to brush the hair from Emily’s face is to lift her hand a few inches.

Her fingers twitch and—

The sound of the alarm rings hard and sudden through the room, and Lindsey actually _jerks_ back from Emily’s body, nearly throwing herself off the bed in the process.

“Fuck,” she swears. “Sorry, I— _sorry_.”

Her fingers are scrambling to find her phone on the nightstand, yanking it from the plug and tapping it hard until it goes silent. She is pretty sure her face is red.

Emily makes a throaty sort of noise, rolls over completely, and then says, “What kind of absurd ninja move was that?”

Her voice is rough and sleepy, and Lindsey swallows hard at the way it makes her stomach flip.

(She has the split-second thought that she’s absolutely and acutely _screwed_ because it seems like… well, this feeling really seems like—)

She sits on the edge of the bed, trying to make sure that Emily doesn’t catch sight of her blush. “Didn’t want to wake you up,” she mumbles. “Which, uh, sorry… good morning.”

Emily hums, turns her face into Lindsey’s pillow and breathes in deep. Lindsey watches her re-fold her body around the blanket, cuddling it in the spot where Lindsey was just lying, and Lindsey—

She has got to get out of here.

Out of the room. Onto a plane.

Away.

“I’m going to…” she whispers, then trails off.

Her body still feels weirdly hot when she gets up and disappears into the bathroom to get herself ready. She splashes water in her face in a shaky attempt to calm down, and it helps a little bit. Keeping her mind as quiet as she can, she brushes her teeth, changes into the clothes she wants to wear on the plane, pulls her hair up in a tight bun.

When she gets back into the room, Emily is still in her bed, unmoved.

It makes Lindsey pause. She feels weirdly empty suddenly. Her fingers curl around the handle of her suitcase and she pushes it in inch toward the door, just an inch.

“No goodbye?”

Emily’s voice is muffled by Lindsey’s pillow. The corners of Lindsey’s mouth curl up. She leaves the suitcase, drops down on the bed, watches Emily roll onto her side and finally open her eyes.

They’re so blue, even in the lack of light.

Emily looks sleepy and a little disoriented, and Lindsey knows that Emily needs coffee to become a real person, but she can’t help but secretly _love_ this—love the crease between Emily’s eyebrows, the way she’s staring at Lindsey with the slightest hint of grumpiness. Mad that Lindsey’s leaving and pouty because it’s so fucking early on top of that.

There’s a pushy feeling in the center of Lindsey’s chest that makes her want to miss her flight.

Instead, she says, “Have a good Christmas.”

Emily groans. She grabs Lindsey’s wrist. “No.”

“What, no?”

Emily squeezes. “Fuck Christmas. I hate Christmas.”

Lindsey has to try her very best not to smile. “Sonny,” she says, “It will be good. When you’re there, you’ll love it.”

Emily’s grip on Lindsey’s wrist eases up a bit. “Promise?”

Lindsey nods.

“Text me when you land?”

Their eyes lock, just for a moment, and Lindsey feels the sting kind of abruptly. “It’s just two weeks,” she says, more to herself.

Emily nods.

She looks at Lindsey for a second longer, and just as Lindsey starts to get up, Emily pulls on her wrist again, pulling Lindsey back down in the same second that it takes her to sit up and wrap her arms tightly around Lindsey’s neck.

Emily’s body is warm and sleepy, and, for no reason at all, Lindsey thinks the words _casual touching_ , feeling herself get flushed at the way it suddenly doesn’t seem to add up—the ache in her throat, Emily’s eyes on her like this, the way they woke up.

In an attempt to keep some sort of composure, she hears herself say, “Stay here. Sleep some more.”

Emily pulls back. “You do have a really great mattress.”

It flickers between them.

Lindsey gets up, her breathing a bit uneven. “Okay, bye.”

The last thing she sees before she manages to drag her suitcase out of the room and close the door, is the way Emily smiles at her right before lying back down to fall back asleep in Lindsey’s bed.

:::

On the plane, in the weird half-awareness that is the best rest Lindsey is ever able to get at the height of 30,000 feet, she thinks about Sacha Haynes from seventh grade soccer camp.

She hasn’t thought about Sacha in ages.

Sacha—with her dark skin and teasing smile, who was one year older, and ten times more confident than Lindsey. Sacha, who charmed the camp councilors into letting them stay over at each other’s cabins way past curfew every night. Who was such a fast forward that none of the other girls could even keep up with her. Who, once, had pulled Lindsey up to sit with her on the top bunk bed, grinned and told her _this is how you make a hickey_ , right before leaning in and—

She thinks about the way her stomach would tighten whenever they had to play against each other, how she would feel perpetually stuck between wanting to admire and beat her.

She thinks about the way she’d flush whenever Sacha would compliment her footwork.

She thinks about how, for a while, she really did think that she might be…

That she’d want to…

The plane shakes a bit, and Lindsey thinks about Sacha Haynes—

—and then her mind drifts to Emily. 

:::

When her mom picks her up from the airport, Lindsey feels like crying.

It’s not that she’s _really_ upset.

For the most part, it’s just exhaustion. The last long weeks of the Portland season, the fucking stress from her break up with Russell. And of course, her mom can tell immediately, because she wraps her arms tightly around Lindsey, saying, “Welcome home, baby”, and acutely, Lindsey realizes how much she needed to go back here for the holidays—even if it’s just for a little bit.

She buries her face in her mom’s shoulder, breathes in the faint smell of her perfume, the one she’s been wearing for as long as Lindsey can remember, and hugs her close.

As soon as the car moves out of the parking lot, Lindsey is asleep.

:::

She texts Emily after she’s showered and had an actual proper breakfast.

For some reason, the first thing she can think to type out is: _Still in my bed?_

She busies herself with making coffee, not exactly waiting for a reply but keeping a close eye on her phone just the same. She doesn’t mean to. It’s just that she can’t really focus on anything else.

Halfway through her dad’s review of a baseball game he watched last night, her phone buzzes on the kitchen counter.

She slides her thumb across the screen immediately.

It’s a picture, captioned: _Will never leave._

Lindsey’s mouth goes dry.

It’s not like they never send each other selfies. In fact, they send each other selfies _all the time_. But not really like this.

From somewhere far, Lindsey can hear her dad say something, but she can’t drag her eyes away, can’t hear beyond the rush of blood in her ears. It’s not even a _proper_ selfie. Emily’s face is only half visible, smile still sleepy as she gives a lazy thumbs up to the camera. She’s still in Lindsey’s bed, leaning back into the propped up pillows against the headboard. But all Lindsey can look at is Emily’s pale and slightly freckled shoulder—and half of her white Calvin Klein sports bra.

She swallows hard.

Lindsey’s blankets must have been too hot. Emily probably thinks nothing of it. Lindsey has literally seen her in a sports bra hundreds of times.

It really shouldn’t make her feel like this.

“You okay, honey?”

Finally, her dad’s voice pushes through.

“Hm?” She doesn’t look up.

“You look a little shocked,” her dad points out, and Lindsey flinches, because _well, yeah._

“I’m fine. I’m—”

Her phone buzzes again.

_You’re going to have to share with me forever._

She fumbles a little bit, then types back: _I kick in my sleep._

This is normal, she tells herself. Just totally normal. This is how they always text. They’re just friends. Lindsey isn’t even—

(She spent the whole flight thinking about girls. About Sacha Haynes. About that one time she kissed a girl in France and never told anyone. She’s thought the whole way home about what it would feel like to touch a girl, like, _for real_ —and she is pretty sure there are a lot of explanations for that but heterosexuality isn’t really one of them.)

Another buzz.

_You don’t. You’re really into cuddling._

Lindsey full on blushes.

She exhales slowly. Part of her wants to deflect, wants to tell Emily to fuck off and say something about soccer or whatever, just to get rid of the tension. The other part…

She’s already typing before she can hold herself back. _I didn’t hear you complain last night._

It sends a rush of exhilaration through her body. With her hand curled around her cup of coffee, she scrolls through Instagram, browses the latest headlines, everything to distract herself from—

_See? Sharing will be great._

Lindsey has to bite back her smile, stares longer at the message than necessary, completely missing the confused and slightly suspicious crease between her dad’s eyebrows.

:::

Mike comes home and Lindsey _finally_ feels like Christmas is close.

They spend the day watching movies, playfully arguing back and forth about nothing, and eventually Lindsey manages to drag him into the kitchen to help their mom bake a batch of Christmas cookies. Everything is starting to feel excited and familiar.

Lindsey actually loves Christmas. She can’t believe she almost forgot just how much.

She’s kneading another ball of dough, humming along with Chris Rea playing on the radio, not even thinking about the break up, when, of course, her idiot brother has to bring it up.

“Hey,” Mike says. “Heard anything from Russell?”

Their mom shoots him a heavy glare.

Lindsey stills. “Oh, uh—no,” she says after a second. “I mean, yes. He texted me, but, uh, I haven’t replied.”

Mike’s eyes narrow a little bit as he studies her. After a moment, he says, “You okay?”

Lindsey laughs a little breezily. “Yes, Mike. I can handle it.”

Their mom resolutely opens the oven. “Michael, come give me hand here.”

It squeezes tight in Lindsey’s chest, the protective way her brother is watching her, the even more protective way her mom is trying to make sure he doesn’t say anything wrong.

“Good,” Mike says after a second, not moving. “I don’t know. I’ve always thought you could do better.”

“Michael, _now_ , please.”

“Mom,” Lindsey laughs, genuinely this time. “I’m fine. Really. I wasn’t for a little while—you know how it is. But now I’m good, I promise. I’ve been keeping busy. Hanging out with Sonny a lot.”

The moment the words leave her mouth, she regrets them. Because for some reason her mind flashes instantly to last night—to the way Emily had kissed the back of her neck, right before they fell asleep.

The corner of Mike’s mouth twitches. “Yeah?” he says. “What’s Sonnett doing for Christmas?”

Lindsey abruptly turns away, turning the tap open to wash her hands for no reason at all. “Just visiting family.”

Mike doesn’t say anything. He just smirks a little bit.

“You know she’s always welcome here, right?” Lindsey’s mom cuts in. “We haven’t seen her in a while. Make sure to tell her, yeah?”

“Sure,” Lindsey says, voice a little bit weird. “I will.”

Mike looks like he’s going to say something, but Lindsey abruptly flicks water up in his face to stop him from having the chance. She shrieks when Mike makes a grab for the flour. Their mom yells at them, and no one brings it up again.

:::

On Christmas Eve, they FaceTime.

Lindsey is curled up in bed, already sleepy. Emily has arrived at her parents’ house earlier today and is sitting on the floor next to her half unpacked suitcase. They’ve been talking for about an hour already, not really about anything specific. Just jokes and banter and the casual teasing about Emily’s Mia Hamm poster above her bed.

“You’re just jealous,” Emily says. “You wish _your_ face was up there.”

“My mom has some old PSG posters of me.” Lindsey grins. “I’ll bring them for you, yeah? Christmas present.”

Even with the slightly blurry connection, Lindsey can see Emily roll her eyes. It rushes a wave of happiness through her body. She sinks deeper into the bed. “How’s the fam?” she asks, just to keep the conversation going.

“Good,” Emily says. “Apparently they missed me.”

“Of course they did.”

Emily smiles, suddenly softer.

It makes Lindsey bite down on her lip and say, “Mike asked about you.”

At that, Emily’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Lindsey doesn’t say anything. She just looks at Emily, and even with all the distance between them, the moment feels a little charged. “Just checking what your holiday plans are,” she says, and then, “My mom told me to tell you you’re always welcome.”

Emily’s face lights up. “Oh, Linda,” she says, fondness spilling over in her voice. “Ask her how soon I can come over.”

Lindsey has to tell herself that Emily is joking. She watches Emily pull some items of clothing from her suitcase, just throwing them out rather than folding them and putting them away where they’re supposed to go.

“Tomorrow’s Christmas,” Lindsey says.

Emily’s eyes flick back up to the screen. “You know, when Emma and I were little, we’d try and keep each other awake as long as possible on Christmas Eve. We’d pretend to be asleep whenever our parents would check on us, obviously. But then as soon as they left, we’d pull the flashlights from under our covers and play games.” She grins. “Like, we would do gymnastics on our beds or force each other to keep telling jokes and stories, stuff like that, just so that we wouldn’t fall asleep, hoping we would hear Santa deliver the presents.”

Lindsey’s chest feels warm. She can picture it completely—Emily as a tiny blonde kid with her face full of freckles, trying to hack Christmas Eve like that.

“Did you ever?” she says teasingly. “Hear Santa?”

Emily laughs. “We’d play so hard we’d just wear each other out and fall asleep eventually, anyway. Think that’s why mom and dad just let it happen.”

Lindsey feels a flutter in her stomach. She wraps herself a little tighter in her covers. “Want to stay up with me tonight so we can hear Santa deliver our presents?”

Emily bites down on her lip. “Are you asking me to sleep with you again?”

Lindsey’s face heats up. “No,” she mumbles, before rolling her eyes. “Yes. Maybe.”

Emily’s expression softens. She gets up off the floor and drops down onto her bed. “Fine,” she says, “But you’ll have to tell me a story or else I’ll fall asleep and it won’t work.”

“Fine.” Lindsey is smiling so hard it hurts. “Did I ever tell you about the time Mike and I accidentally adopted our neighbor’s cat because it had wandered off to our back yard and we thought it was a stray?”

:::

She feels sleepy and hot when she hears Emily’s saying, “Linds? You here?”

“Yeah,” Lindsey says. There’s something off about her voice. About both of their voices. She’s still in bed, phone clutched in her hand, but the edges of her vision are a little bit blurry. Her body feels warm and heavy, and she’s not sure—

She’s—

She feels tense.

“I think I fell asleep for a second,” she mumbles, running a hand through her hair. She feels a little bit sweaty.

Emily doesn’t say anything and Lindsey stares at the screen of her phone, mouth going dry when she suddenly realizes that Emily’s taken of her shirt, that she’s wearing the same white sports bra she sent a picture of the other day.

“You okay?” Emily says, with a smirk. “You look a little hot.”

Lindsey bites down on her bottom lip, then hears herself say, “ _You’re_ hot.”

“Yeah?” Emily says, voice low. “You think so?”

Lindsey nods. It feels like she’s drunk, like she can’t quite figure out what is going on, but it feels good all the same. It feels good and exhilarating and—

Emily smirks, hooks a finger under the elastic of her bra, says, “Want me take this off, then?”

Lindsey closes her eyes, can almost feel what it will be like to drag her fingers over Emily’s skin, hot and slowly; to kiss Emily’s neck, try and steal the breath from her lungs; to move her back onto the bed and push her legs open, make Emily stare up at her and—

She gasps, and wakes up.

It takes a second to realize she’s in her own bed—that it was a dream.

She’s panting, shaky and trembling. Her earphones are tangled around her neck and with a wave of panic she thinks that maybe Emily’s been on FaceTime all this time, that she’s seen the way that Lindsey—

She yanks on the cord, realizing with relief that their call got disconnected somewhere in the middle of the night, and that she’s alone.

Nothing to worry about.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep. She remembers Emily’s voice and the warmth of her bed, and then—

It flashes through her body once again, hot and tense and _real_.

_Fuck._

It’s Christmas morning and Lindsey—

She’s so screwed.

:::

It takes all of Christmas to calm down a little bit.

There are so many family members to see, so many people to talk to, exchange presents with. Her mom is a high-energy but stressed-out version of happy, rattling off everything that still needs to happen for dinner and snapping at Mike that he should really change into a nicer pair of pants.

Through it all, Lindsey forces herself to think _so what_.

So what she might have a little bit of a crush on her best friend? So what she can’t stop thinking about the night before she left to fly back home, about the dream?

It’s not the end of the world. It’s a tiny bit inconvenient, that’s all. She’ll get over it fast enough.

So what if she wants to call Emily and talk about it even though she _can’t_ because it’s Emily and that is kind of the point?

She panics and calls Rose instead.

:::

“And you think any of this is really surprising to me?”

Lindsey groans. “Fuck. Are you serious?”

Rose laughs on the other side of the line. “You are such an _idiot_. Can’t believe this is your big Christmas crisis. Is this really why you called me?”

“Rose…” Lindsey whines. “What am I going to do?”

“Oh, gosh, I don’t know…” Rose says, and Lindsey wants to single-handedly strangle the sarcasm out of her voice. “What should one do when they find themselves in uncontrollable love with their best friend?”

“ _Crush_ ,” Lindsey snaps. “I said crush.”

“Potato, po—”

“Rose!” Lindsey takes a sharp breath. “I’m serious. Just—just tell me what to do. I feel like I’m going crazy. I mean, I can try to avoid her for a while, but—”

“Yeah, you live together, good luck with that.”

Lindsey takes a breath, then another. She runs a hand through her hair, closes her eyes, trying to forget about Emily’s face, her stupid blue eyes, her—

Rose seems to finally take pity on her. “Okay,” she says, “I know you’re freaking out about this, but don’t be ridiculous. This is Sonnett we’re talking about. It’s a low bar.”

Lindsey sputters. “Excuse me?”

“No, I mean—you’re basically already in a relationship with each other, anyway,” Rose says. Lindsey’s face goes bright red. She’s grateful that Rose can’t see it. “I’m just saying, it might not even be that big of a deal. Just talk to her.”

“I can’t,” Lindsey says, more out of reflex than anything else.

She can practically see Rose roll her eyes. “Okay, well, then I’m out of advice.”

Lindsey takes a shaky breath, then another. “I don’t know, after the whole thing with Russell, I’m not sure, I can really…” She swallows hard, struggling to say what she wants to say. “I don’t know if I _want_ to have a crush.”

Rose softens a bit. “I know,” she says, voice kinder. “But you don’t get to choose that.”

Lindsey glances down, fumbles with the cord of her earphones.

And then, Rose says, “Besides, Emily is not Russell.”

That makes Lindsey pause for a second.

She thinks about Emily’s fingers on her cheekbone, about the way she’d said _I just want you to feel good_. About the Christmas tree, about sleeping in the same bed. She thinks about Emily’s stupid jokes, how she always manages to make Lindsey laugh, even when she’s annoyed or stressed or tired.

“Yeah, that’s true,” she says after a moment.

“Think about it,” Rose says. And then, “So, what was it you said about having a dream last night?”

“ _No—_ ”

“Something about a Calvin Klein sports bra—”

“I’m going to hang up!”

:::

The apartment feels empty and weird when Lindsey gets back on the 30th of December. Arriving to the stillness after all the holiday craziness almost makes her feel a little weird.

It definitely doesn’t help that her roommate won’t be home for another week.

Lindsey showers, absentmindedly unpacks, then tries to catch up on some sleep for a couple of hours.

When she wakes up, she feels groggy and a little stressed-out. She really needs to start cooking dinner, but she doesn’t feel like it at all.

She’s staring at the half-empty fridge when her phone rings and Emily’s name flashes across the screen.

They’ve last texted each other yesterday night. Lindsey had also sent a few messages Emily’s way earlier today, but she hasn’t responded to any of those. She slides her thumb across the screen, trying her very best to ignore the way her stomach flips.

“Hey.”

“You hungry?”

Lindsey chuckles. “Uh, hi to you, too.”

“I ordered us way too much food from that new Thai place. It should be here any minute.”

Lindsey frowns. There’s something in Emily’s voice—something excited and kind of teasing, and it makes her stomach swoop again, even though she’s confused. “What—what do you mean _us_?”

She can hear Emily smile through the phone. “Us, Linds. You and me. We’re having Thai tonight.”

Lindsey’s heart starts racing. “We’re—you’re…” she stammers. “ _What_?”

“Oh, I think delivery is here. Can you get the door?”

Lindsey actually freezes in place.

Emily laughs. “Lindsey. Any minute now.”

Her body recovers. She’s at the door in seconds, phone still clutched tightly in her hand, heart hammering in her chest, palms slightly sweaty as she reaches for the handle, yanking it open—

Emily is standing right in front of her, holding the handle of her suitcase in one hand and a paper food bag in the other.

She smirks. “Missed me?”

:::

“You didn’t think I would actually be absent at the greatest New Year’s party of the decade, did you?” Emily takes a bite of her food, gives Lindsey a little eyebrow wiggle. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Lindsey can’t stop smiling. She reaches forward to grab the bottle of wine. “No need to make such a show out of it, though.”

“Element of surprise, baby.”

Lindsey nearly topples the bottle all over their couch. She glances up, just in time to catch the way Emily’s mouth parts and her lips widen slightly, like she’s only now realizing what she said. Lindsey bites down hard on her bottom lip, and Emily rambles out, “I mean, I just wanted to surprise you.”

“When did you even change your flight?”

“Yesterday.”

Lindsey stares, forgets to pour wine in her glass. “Only yesterday?”

Emily nods. “Yeah, I—uh—I don’t know. It was a little bit of an impulse decision, but I just kept thinking about it. Even before Christmas already. About the party, like, how much fun it’d be, celebrating with everyone, with you.” She gives Lindsey a quick look. “And, anyway, the flight was kind of expensive, but New Year’s in Atlanta just didn’t weigh up to it, you know?” She scrunches her nose. “Oh, and Rose kind of forced me to.”

Lindsey freezes. “What?”

“Yeah, it was weird,” Emily says, frowning, taking the bottle from Lindsey’s hands, impatient about filling up her own glass. “She called me the other day and was all like _you should go back to Portland—_ but, like, she was kind of pushy about it?”

One of these days, Lindsey might actually kill Rose.

She’ll have to make it look like an accident—but she’ll do it.

“Oh.” Lindsey tries her very best to keep her face neutral. “Weird.”

“Yeah. Anyway—” Emily nudges Lindsey’s knee with her foot, smirking. “Now that I’m here, should we finally bang out the ultimate Spotify New Year’s playlist with our combined DJ skills?”

Lindsey tries really not to hear the words _bang out_. She rolls her eyes but nods. “Sure.”

There’s something in Emily’s gaze that makes Lindsey want to even the playing field, something that wants to tease back, just a little bit. She tries really hard not to say the thing she wants to say. But Emily is _still_ looking and something about it makes Lindsey smirk.

She holds out her glass of wine, and says it anyway. “Maybe you can top me first—top _up_ , I mean.”

Emily’s face is worth the blush on Lindsey’s cheeks.

:::

They’re significantly more drunk by the time they finally finish sorting through their Spotify libraries, getting sidetracked a little too often with dancing and singing along to whatever is playing from their speaker set—very off key in Emily’s case and without any consideration for the actual lyrics in Lindsey’s case.

Emily is halfway through freestyling to _Crazy in Love,_ when Lindsey—who feels pumped and warm and right on the good side of tipsy, says, “Hey! You promised to teach me that move.”

“What, this one?”

Emily spins, repeats the move, and then follows it up with some sort of body roll that is definitely _not_ the move that Lindsey meant. It’s slower and a bit exaggerated, and Lindsey doesn’t want to stare, but—

It takes her a second to answer. “Do that last one again.”

There’s the tiniest hint of a smile at the corner of Emily’s mouth. She keeps eye contact with Lindsey, rolls her hips for the second time.

It’s ridiculous.

She should find it ridiculous.

She should laugh and roll her eyes, and she tries. She tries to laugh. But Emily is so effortlessly confident when it comes to this stuff—so confident that it just works. She can make _anything_ look good, no matter what it is.

Lindsey feels a little bit hot all of a sudden. She sinks deeper into the couch, and then, before she can stop herself, she says, “You could put that in a striptease.”

Emily puts her hands on her hips, and despite the fact that she hasn’t had another drink, Lindsey feels like something is suddenly spinning out of control.

She is thinking that Emily must also be past the point of tipsy, because the next thing Emily says, “Oh yeah? I’ve got way more of that.”

Lindsey needs something stronger than the wine. She laughs, just the slightest bit uneasy. “Get out of here.”

Emily’s eyebrows shoot up. “What? Think I can’t do it?”

“Striptease?” Lindsey’s voice comes out so high that she’s embarrassed.

Emily smirks. She turns around, grabs her phone from the table and types something in the Spotify search bar. A second later, Beyoncé’s voice cuts short and is replaced with the slower, more seductive version of the song—it sounds vaguely familiar, Lindsey thinks.

Her mouth goes dry. “You wouldn’t—”

Emily pins her with a stare. “Thought you wanted me to teach you the move?”

Lindsey can’t think anymore. She’s acutely too aware of her own body, of the way she’s leaning against the side of the couch, dressed in leggings and a zipped up Adidas hoodie, her hair loose and messy. Emily is not in any way dressed up either, but—

She accidentally drags her eyes over Emily’s mesh shorts and soft grey crew neck sweater, thinking for one second what it would be like if she were to take those off and—

 _Fuck_ , she’s definitely drunk.

“Linds,” Emily says. “You good?”

Lindsey swallows hard. The music is still playing and she hears herself say, “Really? The song from the _Fifty Shades of Grey_ trailer?” It’s the last thing she can get out to try and play it off as a joke. “That is what you’re going to try and seduce me on?”

Emily winks at her. “I mean, a girl can hope.”

And then—

Before Lindsey can get any other word out, before she can respond to _that_ , Emily grabs a chair from the kitchen table, drags it to the middle of the room and beckons Lindsey over with a finger. “Mr. Grey will see you now.”

Lindsey snorts and Emily chuckles a bit, and it’s just funny enough to break the tension, to remind Lindsey that they’re friends, that Emily is just joking with her, that they’re drunk and stupid, and they’ve been dancing and singing all night. What’s the harm of doing a little bit more of that?

(So what that the thought of Emily’s body close to her own is already enough to set make Lindsey shiver? So what?)

She lets Emily walk her over to the chair. “All right, then, show me those moves.”

Emily drops her hand to Lindsey’s shoulder and Lindsey closes her eyes, taking a breath, preparing herself.

It does nothing.

It does nothing, because she couldn’t prepare herself for this if she tried.

Sure, it’s mostly uncoordinated and messy. Emily kind of stumbles her way through it. She’s exaggerating every sway of her hips, every move she makes, from the way she drags her fingers up and down Lindsey’s arm to the way she drapes herself over the back of the chair and throws her leg up like a show girl.

Lindsey wants to laugh, but instead, she feels hot everywhere at once.

Emily shakes her hair loose from her bun and Lindsey’s breath catches in her throat. She plays with the hem of her shorts and Lindsey can barely look at her eyes. She wants to say something smart, wants to force herself to stop blushing already.

“Oh, _shit_ —” Emily loses her balance for a second, and it’s enough to make Lindsey exhale with a laugh.

But then, the moment she’s found her composure, Emily knocks Lindsey’s knees apart, standing right between them, reaching forward to grab a hold of Lindsey’s hands like she’s not nervous at all.

She places them right on her hips—and something in Lindsey kind of snaps.

“Okay, okay,” she manages to get out, laughing nervously as she pushes back against Emily’s hips, standing up. “That’s—”

She runs a hand through her hair, stepping past Emily and turning, not really knowing what to say, just that she needs to say _something_ to get the situation a little bit more under her control, to feel like she can handle this, but all she can think is… “That’s not how you do it, though.”

Emily lifts one eyebrow. “No?” She puts a hand on her hip. “What is it I’m doing wrong, Anastasia?”

Lindsey exhales on a laugh. “That’s enough with the _Fifty Shades_ references.”

(There’s a tiny part of her that feels shaky at the realization that somehow, even through all of _this_ , Emily seems to know exactly what to say to make Lindsey laugh, to make her relax, to make her—)

Emily wiggles her eyebrows. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

Lindsey pushes Emily’s shoulder, and it’s not really with any force, but it’s enough to make Emily stumble back, into the chair, and the next thing she knows, they’ve switched positions, and Lindsey feels something twist in her stomach.

Emily grins. “So, what is it that I was doing wrong exactly?”

Lindsey licks at her bottom lip. “Well, you fucked up the point of a striptease, for starters.”

“Which is?”

Lindsey looks right at Emily. “To take your clothes off.”

It’s the first time all night that she can see Emily flush. There’s a bit of shyness to the way she shifts in the chair, hands on her knees like she’s not quite sure what do with them.

The song is still playing on repeat in the background, and Lindsey suddenly wants to see just how much more flustered she can get Emily.

She pushes her hip out just a little bit, then slowly rolls it. It’s not a real dance move, but Emily’s gaze drops and she focuses in on it like it’s the only thing that matters.

 _Fuck_.

It makes Lindsey feel so good that she almost stumbles at the rush of it.

Instead, she pushes herself to find some sort of rhythm. It’s slow, slower than whatever Emily was doing, and way more hesitant. She keeps checking Emily’s face, keeps trying to read whatever is between them. It feels a little bit tense, a little bit awkward. Lindsey’s not very comfortable with dancing. She really doesn’t have any sense for style.

But Emily can’t take her eyes off of Lindsey’s body, and Lindsey’s got one card to play that doesn’t really require any real dancing skills.

Her fingers tremble on the zipper of her hoodie.

She knows she’s only got a bra on underneath—had thrown on the easiest, most comfortable thing she could find, a simple black bra she’s had for years.

_Got me lookin’ so crazy right now, your love’s got me lookin’ so crazy right now._

She pulls the zipper down, not completely, but just enough for it to fall open.

Emily swears under her breath, low and shaky, and that—

That’s all the encouragement Lindsey needs.

She steps forward, reaches for Emily’s hand and lets her take hold of the zipper instead.

“Come on,” she says. “Help me out here?”

Emily’s face is bright red when she pulls the zipper down. Lindsey sways her hips for effect, then smirks and runs a hand through her hair. She plays a little with the collar of the hoodie, sliding the fabric down her arms and then dropping it right into Emily’s lap.

It’s not even that sexy.

It’s a hoodie, for God’s sake.

But still, Lindsey feels a rush of arousal at the way Emily’s whole expression changes. She puts one hand on Emily’s shoulder, rolling her upper body as she leans in closer to her ear, “And _that_ is how you striptease…” 

Emily’s exhale hits the side of Lindsey’s neck, and for a second, it shakes her up a bit, the way it causes a shiver to run all the way down her back. She wants to stay close. She wants to drop herself down into Emily’s lap, straddle her.

She falters, just a little bit, uncertain of what to do—

—and then the music cuts.

It’s abruptly quiet, the tension in the apartment suddenly a little too much, and Lindsey pulls herself back.

Emily lets out a nervous laugh. “Uh—I think my phone died.”

Her voice sounds a little fucked up, and Lindsey has to bite down on her lip, has to force herself from not feeling it between her legs.

She laughs, presses her hands to her forehead, suddenly a bit embarrassed. Feeling to need to say something to pass it off, she says, “Wow, that second bottle of wine, huh?”

Emily is quiet. When their eyes meet, Lindsey can still see the faint blush on Emily’s cheeks. It softens the tension inside of her.

She holds out her hand. “Come brush teeth with me?”

:::

They end up in Lindsey’s bed.

It’s not intentional. Lindsey only realizes that she’s pulled Emily into her room when she’s already shimmied out of her leggings and has gotten into bed, wearing just her bra and underwear. Emily is standing at the corner of the mattress, looking like she’s not really sure of what to do.

Lindsey taps the covers. “Come on,” she says. “Cuddle me.”

She’s not sure what is happening to her, where all of this loosened confidence is coming from.

Emily smiles. She plays a little bit with the hem of her shirt, and then—after letting her eyes go so quickly over Lindsey’s body that Lindsey barely catches it—she pulls it off.

Lindsey’s breath catches in her throat.

Of course, Emily is wearing _that_ bra.

She’s still biting on her bottom lip when Emily flicks off the lights and gets in next to Lindsey, lying on her side so that they’re facing each other. Lindsey can faintly smell the spearmint on Emily’s breath, can feel the way her body is warm and close.

She decides to be brave.

With only a little bit of hesitation, she moves forward, sliding her leg between Emily’s thighs and draping her arm across Emily’s stomach, trying not to think of how little clothing is between them.

Emily’s breathing is shallow.

“Hey,” Lindsey mumbles, feeling the slightest sting of concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Emily’s voice is soft. “I’m, uh, yeah, I’m fine.”

Lindsey is quiet for a second. Then, she says, “You know you nearly gave me a heart attack when you danced for me, right? Like—when I said that’s not how you do it, I was only messing with you.”

Emily doesn’t respond, and Lindsey rambles, “Because, _god_ , really, I mean—you don’t even need to take your clothes off to make a girl feel all—to make me feel all—all—”

She cuts herself off, a little too close to the truth.

Emily’s body folds itself closer around her.

“All what?” Emily says softly.

Lindsey tries to hide her face in the space between Emily’s shoulder and her neck.

She doesn’t answer and Emily doesn’t push it.

Instead, after a moment of quiet, Emily whispers, “Do you feel better? Like, physically. Is this—is all the touching—do you feel better about it?”

Lindsey smiles. She presses her mouth to Emily’s shoulder, realizing a moment too late that they don’t do this, that she can’t actually kiss her. “So much better.”

Emily sighs, and Lindsey abruptly freezes with her lips against Emily’s skin. It doesn’t seem to matter, though. All that happens is that Emily mumbles into her ear that it’s New Year’s Eve tomorrow, that they’ve got to sleep if they want to make it through the party.

God.

 _It’s not even New Year’s Eve_ , Lindsey thinks, and then she closes her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> I can’t ever stick to my word count. Another chapter after this! Let me know in the comments what you liked / didn’t like / your favorite lines / what else you want to see, all of it!
> 
> (or come yell at me on tumblr: e-lec-tric-in-di-go)
> 
> Have a great day, my friends!


	3. III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> (I’m full on ignoring the Orlando trade in this chapter because I still can’t deal with it emotionally.)
> 
> Last chapter! This was so much fun to write! I hope it lives up to the expectations. Let me know what you think in the comments. I LOVE reading all of your thoughts.

“Tell me a secret.”

“What?”

Emily grins. “Come on. It’s the last day of the year.”

Lindsey frowns, taking a bite of her toast. “So?”

“ _So_ … tell me a secret,” Emily says, playing with the straw in her orange juice. “It’s a New Year’s tradition.”

“What is?”

Emily grins at her. “Linds, wake up.”

Lindsey makes a frustrated sound at the back of her throat. She reaches for her coffee, groaning again when she realizes she already finished it. Looking around to signal the waitress, she mumbles, “Maybe if you hadn’t dragged me out here at the crack of dawn, I would be more awake…”

“It’s 10.21,” Emily says, still grinning wide. “Don’t be dramatic. Besides—it’s a special occasion. Last avo toast of the year.”

Lindsey scrunches her nose. “We can literally go here any day we want. We could go tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow. You know, any day we’ve had more than six hours of sleep. That would be great.”

“Yeah, but then it wouldn’t be 2019 anymore.” Emily’s eyes are bright and gleaming, and for a moment, it softens something inside Lindsey’s chest. She rolls her eyes but smiles all the same, only frowning once again when Emily taps her fingers against her wrist and adds, “But tell me a secret. Come on, let’s hear what you’ve got.”

“Why do you need a secret?”

“It’s tradition,” Emily says again. “A secret on the last day of the year. Emma and I always do it.”

“Then do it with Emma.”

Emily lets her fingers linger on Lindsey’s wrist, stroking softly, right across her pulse. “But I want to do it with you…”

Lindsey instantly feels her face heat up, though she tries to blame the morning sunlight falling through the windows of the café.

She studies Emily from across the table.

It takes effort not to let her mind wander to last night. To the slow music, the feeling of her hands on Emily’s hips. How she’d gotten Emily to blush like never before. She bites down on her bottom lip, gaze getting stuck on the cute freckles on the bridge of Emily’s nose, so light they’re barely even visible. Her lips, pink and parted in a sort of teasing smile. The line of Emily’s jaw, the way the tips of her hair brush against it, fallen out of her bun.

Lindsey swallows hard. “Uh—okay, what do—”

“I’ll go first,” Emily says. “You clearly still need to wake up. Here, take some of mine.”

She pushes her mug across the table. It’s so casual. Like it’s not an issue at all. Like it’s totally normal that Lindsey finishes the rest of Emily’s coffee, no big deal. And maybe it isn’t. Maybe friends do this all the time. But Lindsey _knows_ how much Emily loves her coffee, especially the coffee at this place. Her breath catches a bit.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, bringing the mug up to her mouth, trying not to read anything into it.

Emily just smiles. “Okay,” she says, “So, here’s mine. I’ve got Kelley’s nudes on my phone.”

Lindsey actually _chokes_. She sputters so hard that she nearly drops the mug. Her throat closes off and she coughs, trying desperately to get air back into her lungs. “You’ve got—” She can barely get the words out. “You’ve got _what_?”

Emily smirks at her. “Naked pictures of Kelley O’Hara on my phone? Yes.”

Lindsey rubs a shaky hand over her sternum in an attempt to find her composure, to stop her chest from hurting. An attempt to push this sharp, unpleasant feeling in her body away as quickly as possible. This is—

This is—

_Not what she expected._

“You mean, from her shoot?” she manages to get out eventually. “The Body Issue?”

Emily shakes her head. “Nope,” she says, “Actual nudes. Like, private ones.”

She watches Lindsey from across the table, smirk on her lips, considering the way the words land with a cool kind of casualty that has Lindsey narrowing her eyes. She squeezes her hands together tightly, trying to force the shaky jealous sting out. Emily is just smiling, looking at Lindsey as if she’s trying to read her reaction, and she’s so calm about it, like it doesn’t matter that apparently she’s got her teammate’s _naked pictures_ on her phone, like it doesn’t matter that Lindsey—

That she feels—

_Fuck Kelley._

That’s what she feels.

“Why?” she says, eventually, and it sounds snappy and sharp, and _God,_ they’re just having brunch, but Lindsey suddenly hates avocado toast and stupid New Year’s traditions and the way Emily is still just _smirking_ —

“Got them accidentally,” Emily says. “Meant for her girlfriend, obviously, not for me. But she was slightly tipsy and I’d been texting her about training in Atlanta, so I was high up in her contact list. She just clicked the wrong chat.” She laughs, bright and relaxed, and in a way that makes Lindsey feel even more stressed out. “Anyway, that’s my secret.”

Lindsey takes a shaky breath, and then, somehow, manages to make a bad situation worse.

“I had a sex dream about you.”

She hears herself say the words, before she realizes that she actually said them out loud.

Emily’s eyes go wide, and Lindsey’s whole body freezes.

_Fuck._

One moment she’s still busy internally cursing Kelley for ever getting a girlfriend to send nudes to in the first place, and the next—

Apparently, sleep deprivation causes her to have the sudden compulsive need to give away an _actual_ secret.

Apparently, she has a death wish.

Emily is completely quiet. She’s staring at Lindsey with a high blush on her cheeks, and Lindsey can see the way her breaths are coming out just a little bit quicker, _hates_ that she even notices that, _hates_ that she can’t ever keep it together around Emily, _hates that Emily has Kelley’s nudes and_ —

“You had a—” Emily’s voice is hoarse. “You dreamed—”

“Isn’t that crazy?” Lindsey’s voice is high-pitched and slightly hysterical. “Like, what the fuck, right?”

She forces a laugh that Emily doesn’t return. She’s still staring at Lindsey, still blushing. But the smile that was there before is wiped off her face completely and there’s a sinking feeling in Lindsey’s stomach when Emily, after what feels like an eternity, clears her throat and then says, “Right…”

“Do you want more coffee?” Lindsey says, turning around and frantically scanning the café for the waitress. “I can order you some more coffee. I drank all of your coffee, so I probably should really order you some—”

Emily flicks her eyes up. “Was it good?”

Lindsey stops talking.

She bites down on her bottom lip. “W—was it—” Her voice is shaky. “Oh, you mean, uh…” Emily doesn’t take her eyes away, and Lindsey, feeling like she’s jumping off a goddamn cliff when she chokes out, “ _Yes_.”

At that, Emily’s mouth curls up, just the tiniest bit. Just a hint of a smile, but a smile all the same.

Lindsey is blushing even harder than before, and then, Emily says, “For the record, I didn’t look at them, you know.”

“Didn’t look—” It takes Lindsey a second. “Oh. _Oh._ ”

“I only want girls to send me nudes if they’re meant for me,” Emily says, the look in her eyes doing something to Lindsey’s body that she’s not at all prepared for. It’s almost challenging, and Lindsey—

Lindsey wants to say _I’ll keep that in mind_.

Wants to say, _I’ll send you anything you want_.

Wants to say, _Fuck, Em, I’m so into you that it’s driving me crazy—_

Emily’s smile has turned into a real one. “More coffee?”

She waves the waitress over and Lindsey’s feels like maybe New Year’s secrets aren’t such a stupid tradition after all.

:::

Ellie’s place is definitely ready for a party.

That is, the amount of alcohol inside the apartment is enough to knock all fifty or so people completely out in a matter of hours.

Lindsey takes it in with wide eyes. “This seems unsafe.”

Caitlin slings an arm around her waist, leaning in, and yelling over the music, “I’m sorry, do you not understand the point of New Year’s Eve?”

She’s touchy and loose, and Lindsey grins, despite herself. “You drunk, already?”

“ _Celebrating_ ,” Caitlin corrects. “I’ve been celebrating. It’s been 2020 in Australia for hours, babe.”

Whatever Lindsey wants to respond gets lost when she catches sight of Emily making her way through the crowd, drinks in her hands. Lindsey tries hard not to stare.

_Stop it,_ she tells herself, feeling her body go hot. _For fuck’s sake._

It’s not that she’s unprepared. They’d gotten ready together at their shared apartment after all. So it’s not like she doesn’t _know_ what Emily is wearing—or just how good she looks wearing it.

But still, the sight of Emily in the low-cut black jumpsuit and pumps is enough to make tension burn low in Lindsey’s body. She forces herself to relax, to play it cool. Before she can fully analyze just how difficult that is, someone bumps into Emily’s back, making her almost spill the drink in her left hand, and Lindsey is already reaching forward, grabbing Emily’s arm to steady her, glaring at the idiot behind Emily. But—

Suddenly, they’re close.

And Emily’s skin is _soft,_ and Lindsey catches the last second of Emily’s lingering gaze on her shoulders, and she promptly feels like she couldn’t stop herself from being this responsive if she _tried_.

“Here,” Emily says, quickly handing Lindsey one of the two glasses. “Before anyone else tries to knock it out of my hand.”

“Thanks,” Lindsey says, and if it sounds a little breathy she is hoping Emily won’t be able to hear it over the music.

“No problem,” Emily says, eyes still on Lindsey, and this is—

It feels like they’re having a different conversation entirely.

Lindsey brings the glass up to her mouth, drinks quickly.

“Thirsty,” Caitlin comments with a slight smirk.

“We have to catch up with you, apparently,” Lindsey says, and Emily laughs, even though it’s not that funny.

The sound twists warm in Lindsey’s chest. Caitlin pouts and Lindsey knocks her glass against Emily in a sort of messy _cheers_ moment, laughing too, before taking another sip of her drink.

She watches Emily do the same, watches the way Emily licks at her bottom lip before bringing the glass up to her mouth, watches the way she bites down on it right after, never once taking her eyes off Lindsey.

The alcohol can’t hit her quick enough, Lindsey thinks.

:::

It does.

The last time Lindsey checked the time, it was still about an hour to midnight, but right now, she couldn’t care less about the new year. She’s got other things to focus on. The space where people are dancing is tight and Lindsey’s thoughts are clouded—alcohol and heat and the way Emily’s hand has been on her hip for the last few minutes, her thumb brushing the bare skin of Lindsey’s stomach as they dance, just above the waist of her black leather pants.

She’s more than a little distracted by it.

She’s also feeling a little bold.

The beat is low and heavy and Lindsey’s mind keeps flashing to last night, when it was just the two of them, when Emily was dancing for her, and Lindsey had stripped out of her clothes. The way it had made Emily blush; the rush of power through Lindsey’s body.

She moves closer, finds the small of Emily’s back and brings herself forward into her space.

Emily’s lips part as she wets them.

Their faces are close, and Lindsey’s gaze drifts to Emily’s mouth—

It wouldn’t take much.

She wants to press forward, brush her nose against Emily’s for a teasing second, and then close the gap between them. The realization hits her hard, just like that. She really wants this. She wants to kiss her best friend—can’t actually seem to get her mind to think about anything else these days.

_Fuck._

It makes her stumble back a little bit.

Emily frowns, says something that Lindsey can’t hear over the music.

“What?” she says.

And then Emily is leaning up, wrapping an arm loosely around Lindsey’s neck, her breath hot against the shell of Lindsey’s ear. “I asked if you were okay.”

Lindsey nods. She’s sure that Emily must be able to feel how hot her body is, must be able to feel the shiver down Lindsey’s back at the feeling of Emily’s lips against her ear. She puts her hand more firmly on Emily’s hip, mostly to steady herself, but Emily makes a soft sort of sound, almost a gasp.

Lindsey’s skin runs hot.

“Sorry—” she starts to say.

“No, it’s—” There is something hungry in Emily’s eyes. “I…” She hesitates, then laughs a little. “I think I need some air. Or—or another drink. Another drink and some air.”

“Right.” Lindsey swallows hard. “I’ll go get you a drink.”

She’s already stepping back, creating space between them. Just as she turns around to move away from the dancefloor, Emily’s hand closes around her wrist. Her breath hits the side of Lindsey’s neck when she steps forward and says, “I’ll come with you.” 

:::

“Tell me a secret,” Lindsey says.

Emily leans against the railing of the balcony, the shiny lights of the city behind her. They’re at the back of the apartment, on the quiet side. They’ve snatched a bottle of whatever Lindsey could grab from the table, and managed to find the key to the balcony on Ellie’s desk. Inside, people are still partying, but out here they can only hear the low drum of the beat.

“No.” Emily shakes her head, grins at Lindsey. “You already got one today.”

“Come on…” Lindsey pouts. She reaches forward and touches Emily’s shoulder, running her finger over the edge of the black jumpsuit. She doesn’t really know where she finds the courage, but there’s something inside of her that keeps pushing her forward. “I like this secret-telling tradition.”

“Oh?” Emily pins her with a look. “You liked hearing about Kelley’s nudes?”

It burns hot and sharp in Lindsey’s chest.

She scoffs at Emily’s nerve, then drags her nail over Emily’s collarbone—watches the way Emily’s eyes flutter closed at the touch, the way her body seems to shiver forward into Lindsey’s space.

It sends a tiny thrill of pride through Lindsey’s body.

Maybe Kelley O’Hara’s naked pictures are on Emily’s phone, but Lindsey is the one out here on this balcony with her, is the one who’s got Emily blushing in the dark.

“I don’t give a fuck about Kelley,” she mumbles.

Emily grins. “That’s a bit harsh, Linds.”

“You know what I mean.”

Emily gives her a look, puts a hand on Lindsey’s hip. “Do I?”

And there it is—

This unspoken thing between them, everything that’s been happening the past few weeks. Lindsey feels herself getting flushed with the way Emily looks at her, almost challenging, as if she knows exactly what Lindsey is thinking about and is daring her to say it out loud.

Inside, the party is still going on, but here, out on the balcony in the slight evening chill, all Lindsey can focus on are Emily’s freckles and how much she wants to stroke the loose strand of hair behind Emily’s ear. How she wants to lean in and eliminate all space between them, kiss Emily up against the railing—

“Linds?”

Emily’s eyes are the slightest bit narrowed, and Lindsey says, “Ask me to tell you a secret.”

Something in Emily’s expression shifts. It’s almost like her gaze goes a little darker. She shifts, licks at her bottom lip and Lindsey tracks the movement with her eyes.

“Fine.” Emily sounds the slightest bit hoarse. “Tell me a secret.”

Lindsey takes a breath. She feels seventeen all over again. Emily’s hand is on her hip, making her shaky and nervous and flustered. She feels like it’s been a longer time coming than she even realized.

“I love it when you touch me,” she breathes out.

Emily exhales hard, the tiniest sound at the back of her throat.

“Really. I feel so…” Lindsey’s voice is a little hoarse. “It’s just so—” She doesn’t know how to get the words out. “Not like—it’s not like with Russell. Every time you touch me, I feel—I feel so good.”

Emily’s so close, her fingers digging a little bit harder into Lindsey’s waist. “Lindsey…” she says, the sound of it heating up right under Lindsey’s skin.

“Tell me a secret,” Lindsey says, blushing and desperate. “Please.”

Emily pauses. She takes an uneven breath, and for a second she looks just like she does before big games, slightly tense but forcing herself through the nervous, _readying_ herself for something to happen, whatever way it will play out.

She meets Lindsey’s eyes. “I think about kissing you all the fucking time.”

It lands quick and hot and low in Lindsey’s body.

“Yeah?” she chokes out.

Emily nods, glances down, almost embarrassed, and before she can stop herself, Lindsey is already closing the gap, is already tipping Emily’s chin up with her hand, sliding her fingers right into Emily’s hair—

Their first kiss is hard and messy.

Emily startles, her nails sharp on Lindsey’s hips. There’s a hint of teeth on Lindsey’s bottom lip, and it’s too wild, too much.

Lindsey gasps, pulls back just an inch.

There’s nothing but heat and air between them.

Lindsey strokes her fingers over Emily’s neck, closes the gap, and kisses her again—and this time it’s _so,_ so fucking good.

One of Emily’s arms wraps tight around Lindsey’s waist, the other sliding up and around her shoulder, and Lindsey melts into it, melts into the feeling of being wanted like this.

Emily kisses her like she’s been ready to kiss her for ages—all push and pull and desperate touches, shifting of her hips. The thought that maybe she _has_ , makes Lindsey’s whole body shudder.

She licks deeper into Emily’s mouth, swallows the needy groan that Emily makes in response.

There’s almost no space between their bodies, and still Lindsey pushes herself forward, feels herself getting wet, just from the kiss, feels herself get more turned on than she’s ever been with Russell—

She has to pull back, just for a second, just to get her heartbeat under control.

“Em…” she breathes out.

Emily’s eyes are wide, her lips wet and _kissed_.

Lindsey can’t resist.

She pushes forward, kisses Emily again. Now that she’s got a taste, she doesn’t want to stop, not any time soon. It’s like Emily knows because she smirks a little, right against Lindsey’s mouth, before deepening the kiss, stepping up on her toes to pull Lindsey even closer. They’re all tangled, bare skin brushing against bare skin, and Lindsey is burning up, feels like everything inside her is about to explode, feels like—

The fireworks light up the dark night sky all of a sudden and Lindsey startles apart from Emily, thinking for one strange confusingly second that it’s for _them_ , for _this,_ until—

Emily grins up at her, still really close. “Happy New Year.”

Her voice is rough and low and Lindsey—

Again, it takes her a moment to realize. There’s a lot of noise coming from inside the apartment, people shouting, yelling, and they must have missed the countdown, must have _kissed_ through the countdown, and just like that, it’s a new year, and Lindsey can’t stop blushing, can’t stop smiling.

Suddenly, everything happens in a rush.

The door of Ellie’s bedroom slams open abruptly and Emily jerks back from Lindsey so fast that her back hits the glass door.

“ _Happy New Year, bitches_!”

Ellie’s arms are hot and too tight around Lindsey’s neck. She plants a kiss on Lindsey’s cheek, smelling of vodka and pineapple juice. Caitlin slides the door the balcony open wider, grabs the bottle that they haven’t even touched from the floor, and yells, “Were you two keeping this one to yourselves? Fuckin’ bastards.” 

Just like that, it’s a new year, and Lindsey’s being wrapped up in hugs and her best friends are screaming in her ear.

She can’t keep her eyes off Emily for even a second.

:::

Lindsey makes them drink water when they get home.

It’s the responsible thing to do.

They’ve been drinking and they just got home from an out of control party, and this is what you do—you lean back against the wall, in the dark of the kitchen, and remind your best friend that she needs to drink a glass of water.

Emily’s eyes are gleaming, even in the dark. She smiles when Lindsey says it.

“Water? Really?”

“Come on,” Lindsey says, grabbing a large glass from the cupboard and filling it up, not yet ready to think of anything else they could be doing.

Not ready to let her mind wander to the fact that she’s been feeling Emily’s kiss burning hot through her body for the entire Uber ride home. Not ready to confront just how much she’s been wanting this—to kiss, to touch, to be alone in their apartment together, to imagine what Emily would look like in Lindsey’s bed; out of her jumpsuit, with Lindsey’s red lipstick all across the skin of her throat.

“You okay?” Emily says, smirking like she knows exactly where Lindsey’s mind is at.

Lindsey ignores her, pushes the glass of water into Emily’s hand. “Drink up.”

Emily leans back against the kitchen counter, takes the glass and drinks the water slowly. In the silence that follows, Lindsey’s breathing evens out a little bit. She grabs her own glass, lets the water clear her head. She turns around, her back to Emily to fill her glass up a second time. When she turns around again, Emily’s gaze shifts up. Almost like she—

Like she was—

“What?” Lindsey says, putting the glass down, suddenly self-conscious.

Emily takes a second to answer. “Those pants… You should wear them more often.”

The compliment makes the tips of Lindsey’s ears burn.

“Yeah?” she manages to get out.

Emily nods. “Yes.”

Lindsey nods, too, her mind already jumping ahead. “Or…” she hears herself say, desire quicker than her self-control. “Or I could take them off?”

Emily’s gaze darkens. She steps forward, moving until she’s right in front of Lindsey. Her lips are close to Lindsey’s mouth when she says, “Or _I_ could take them off…”

That is really all it takes.

Emily lets herself be kissed. She lets Lindsey move her back, push her up against the kitchen counter first, and then the fridge. She lets Lindsey put her fingers in Emily’s hair, and then on her hips—and then she lets Lindsey slide one hand down to her ass to pull their bodies even closer together.

The door to Lindsey’s bedroom squeaks as they make their way inside. Lindsey is panting, already so turned on that it’s almost painful. She’s trying to decide between pulling her top off or pushing Emily down onto the bed. And then, Emily moves to flick on the lights, and suddenly out of nowhere, Lindsey feels like it’s _too much_.

She grabs a hold of Emily’s wrist, squeezes hard.

“Wait.”

The tension snaps.

Emily pulls back, looks at her. Just like that, her expression is soft and the slightest bit concerned, and she brings her hand up to Lindsey’s cheek. “No lights?” she says softly.

Lindsey feels her throat constrict.

“Yes,” she says.

Emily’s eyebrows rise just a fraction. “Yes, lights?”

“ _No._ ” Lindsey’s voice shakes. “I mean, _yes_. I mean—I—” Suddenly, it’s all flashing through her mind; the break up, the insecurity, the way she hasn’t done this since… and not with… never with a… “I—I don’t know.”

Emily’s eyes are too blue, too piercing.

Lindsey panics.

“Sorry—” she says, “Fuck—I… _Sorry_. We can turn on the lights. Of course we can turn on the lights. We can totally—”

She already moves past Emily, reaches for the switch. Emily grabs her hand.

“Hey,” she says, voice soft. “Linds. _Lindsey_.” Lindsey doesn’t really move, and Emily adds, “Linds, look at me.”

She turns to meet Emily’s eyes.

Emily thumb is on Lindsey’s cheekbone when she says, “You know we don’t have to do anything, right?”

Lindsey’s inhale is shaky. “But I want to.”

At that, Emily is quiet.

There are a million things running through Lindsey’s mind. Stupid things. Things that shouldn’t matter, but that feel big and shaky and tense, just the same. Things like—

“It’s just that I’ve never been with a girl before,” Lindsey rushes out. “And I know you have, like… like, _obviously._ I know that. I mean, there was that one girl from Tinder—and… and that other girl from that bar with the pool tables. And when you were back home in the summer—was it Maya? The really pretty one. With the dark hair and the— _anyway_.” She’s rambling. She’s fucking losing it. “And I have only… only ever been with Russell, which—” She swallows, looks at the wall instead of at Emily’s face, tries to keep all emotion from her voice when she says, “Which means that I don’t really know what I’m doing, and you will _know_ that I don’t really know what I’m doing and if we—if the lights are on, you will _see_ it, too.”

She keeps her eyes on the wall for as long as she can.

But then Emily says, “Lindsey…” and Lindsey is forced to look back at her.

It makes her startle, to meet Emily’s eyes, so close, so intimate—

“I don’t care if the lights are on or off,” Emily says, voice soft. “I don’t care how many girls you’ve been with. Or haven’t been with. I don’t care about your stupid ex-boyfriend because he was a fucking idiot. I…” She brings her fingers to Lindsey’s neck and Lindsey shivers. “I care about what you want.” She brushes her thumb under Lindsey’s collarbone. “The only thing I want to do is whatever makes you feel good.”

Lindsey’s body reacts more strongly to the words than she wants it to. She shudders into Emily’s touch, eyes shutting closed just for a second. The tension in her shoulders snaps, nerves fading away slowly.

She opens her eyes again, watches the way Emily is watching _her_ , to check if she’s okay, if she’s here, if she’s feeling good.

“Em,” she says, voice a little rough. “I want you to touch me.”

There’s something across Emily’s expression as she says it, something a little bit hungry, a little bit needy. Lindsey feels high on having caused it. “You sure?” Emily says.

Lindsey pulls her top up over her head.

The air is a little bit cold against her skin, but it’s worth it for the way Emily’s eyes go wide. Before she can say anything, Lindsey pulls on her hand and kisses her again. Right before the back of her knees hit the bed, her fingers still on the zipper of Emily’s jumpsuit.

“I really want this off,” she says, “Can I… Or, could you…”

There’s a smirk on Emily’s face now, something confident and the slightest bit cocky. She pushes one finger against Lindsey’s sternum, applying just enough pressure for Lindsey to get the message.

She sits down on the edge of her bed, breathless, suddenly impatient.

Watching Emily slide down the zipper of her black jumpsuit with her eyes on Lindsey as she does it, is doing something to Lindsey’s body that she’s barely got the presence of mind to analyze.

_Fuck._

It’s still half dark in the room, but suddenly, Emily’s jumpsuit is on the floor and there is so much skin on display—the shadows that outline the muscles in Emily’s stomach, the black lace of her underwear, the way her body curves, her smooth line of her legs, her—

Lindsey knows that girls are hot.

She _knows_ , but—

The sight of Emily’s boobs, small and perfect; nipples slightly hardened—

_Fuck._

She’s going to pass out.

Emily grins. “How’s that for a striptease?”

Lindsey somehow finds the nerve to meet Emily’s gaze. “Not much of a tease.”

At that, Emily’s expression takes on something a little dangerous. A little dangerous and a lot flirty. She steps forward, legs on either side of Lindsey’s thighs. “Are you complaining?”

“Fuck,” Lindsey swears under her breath, because Emily is _so_ naked, and _so_ close, and all she needs to do is reach out her hand and—

“That’s what I thought,” Emily says, sinking down into Lindsey’s lap and kissing her.

Lindsey’s whole body heats up. Emily is insistent—kissing her until she’s pressed down into the mattress, her whole body shuddering with the way Emily moves on top of her, skin heated all over, nipples brushing against the fabric of Lindsey’s bra.

Just the feeling of Emily’s bare back under Lindsey’s hands is enough to make her whole body tight. Just the faintest press of Emily’s mouth on her neck, the way she ghosts her breath along the curve of Lindsey’s throat so teasingly.

“ _Em_ ,” Lindsey moans.

She suddenly feels like the scales aren’t tipped fairly.

Emily’s mouth parts. She flicks the tip of her tongue against Lindsey’s pulse point and Lindsey gasps. She squirms, hands on the waistband of her own pants, desperate to get them off, to be as naked as Emily, to—

Emily sits up, legs bracketed around Lindsey’s hips. She smirks. “Are you getting impatient?”

Lindsey licks at her bottom lip, feels bold. “Didn’t you say you were going to get me out of these pants?”

Emily makes a tiny sound, but she doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she moves her gaze up and down Lindsey’s body, bringing one of her hands up to Lindsey’s ribs and rubbing her thumb teasingly over the fabric of Lindsey’s bra. She’s taking her time, watching the way Lindsey arches up into the touch with a soft smile. “God, you look so good…”

Lindsey feels the words between her legs.

She’s panting.

Emily’s thumb brushes over Lindsey’s nipple and it sets her on fire. She doesn’t mean to be pushy, but her hands tighten on Emily’s hips. “Em—just—”

The way Emily looks at her is pure heat.

“Okay.” She hooks her finger around the button that holds Lindsey’s pants closed, unhooks it easily.

Lindsey is already lifting her hips. It’s not the smoothest way to get out of her clothes, but she barely even registers anything but the way Emily’s fingers skim over her hips, down the exposed skin of Lindsey’s thighs as she drags the pants down and drops them on the floor.

“ _Oh_ —” Emily gasps, and Lindsey, forgetting that she was only wearing a thong, feels her whole body flush.

She glances up, watches the way Emily is suddenly blushing, unsteady and flustered—can’t seem to drag her eyes away from between Lindsey’s legs.

It rushes such a wave of power through Lindsey’s body that she almost moans.

But then—

As if she can barely control herself, Emily is already kissing up the inside of Lindsey’s leg, hungry and eagerly, and Lindsey _actually_ moans.

She’s shaking, feeling herself getting wetter by the second, and she’s already reaching blindly with her hands, desperate to hold on to anything; Emily’s shoulders, her hand, her hair…

“Linds, can I—”

Emily doesn’t even have to finish the sentence, before Lindsey’s already gasping out, “ _Yes_. Yes, please—I’m—”

She’s unprepared for how good it feels when Emily drags the tiny strap of fabric down her legs and puts her mouth on Lindsey. She’s so unprepared that her body actually jerks.

“Oh, _God—_ ”

Emily holds down her hips, the pressure making Lindsey moan even more, and then—

Russell was never one for oral sex, so Lindsey doesn’t have much to compare it to, but—

_Fuck_.

Emily is slow at first, soft and teasing. She runs the tip of her tongue in circles around Lindsey’s clit, fucking up Lindsey’s breathing and making her increasingly louder.

Lindsey’s thighs are trembling, her hands fisted into the sheets.

She feels like she’s burning—the sight of Emily between her legs, hair wild and mouth wet. And then, as if she can feel that Lindsey is watching, Emily glances up for a second, makes direct eye contact and smirks, right before she flattens her tongue and licks right through Lindsey, harder and faster.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ …”

Lindsey can’t think anymore.

When she comes, it’s with her hands in Emily’s hair, moving her hips against Emily’s mouth, back arching off the mattress. It feels like she blacks out for a bit, everything shaky and hot and _wet—_ and then Emily is making her way up Lindsey’s body, all smirks and kisses.

“God,” Lindsey says. “You killed me.”

Emily grins. “I hope not.”

She’s lying on her side next to Lindsey, propped up on her elbow. Lindsey’s still got her bra on but Emily is still wearing her underwear, and right now that seems to be the most inconvenient thing out of the two.

Lindsey shifts on the mattress, puts her hand on Emily’s stomach.

For a second, she’s nervous.

“Tell me if it’s not…” she starts. She watches Emily’s face, changes the thought. “Tell me what you like.”

The corner of Emily’s mouth curls up. “I’m sure you can figure it— _fuck_.”

Lindsey slides her fingers into Emily’s panties and the end of Emily’s sentence cuts off in a groan.

It’s both different and not really; Emily is wet and hot against the tips of her fingers, and when Lindsey moves her fingers in the way she does when she touches herself—slow brushes and increasingly tighter circles—Emily falls back into the mattress and swears. “God—yes, that’s— _fuck, Lindsey…_ ”

Hearing her name on Emily’s lips like this—rough and needy, and hoarse with desire—it’s enough to push Lindsey forward.

She shifts her weight, manages to drag Emily’s panties down the side of her leg, then pushes her thighs open wider.

“Lean back,” she whispers. “Let me…”

She watches Emily’s face; watches the slight crease between her eyebrows, the teeth on her bottom lip. Watches the way Emily gasps as Lindsey pushes her the tips of her fingers inside. It’s beautiful.

“You’re beautiful,” Lindsey whispers.

Emily’s hips jerk forward, Lindsey’s fingers sliding in deeper.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Emily chokes out. “Babe—”

Lindsey moans.

She feels the blush burn on her cheeks, kisses Emily before she can say anything else, moving her hand as she does it. It turns out to be the right thing to do because there’s a ripple through Emily’s body that Lindsey can feel around her fingers.

After that, everything goes fast and blurry.

Lindsey doesn’t really know what she’s doing, but _damn_ , she’ll learn as fast as she can if it means getting to feel Emily like this; sweaty and out of control, whispering a string of curses under her breath that gets increasingly louder the faster Lindsey moves her fingers.

“That’s—” Emily’s voice cuts off as Lindsey kisses her neck. “Linds, I’m—”

Lindsey feels it when Emily comes; the way she goes tense, the way she pulses around Lindsey’s fingers, the way it drips down in the inside of her wrist.

She’s never felt more into sex than she does right now.

When Emily’s breathing has evened out, she grabs onto Lindsey’s hand, intertwining their fingers. Her eyes are shiny and close. She kisses Lindsey a little desperately, before hooking her thumb under the wire of Lindsey’s bra, and saying with a bit of a laugh, “It’s really time you take this off.”

Lindsey takes a breath, then moves up to straddle Emily’s hips.

“Watch me,” she says.

:::

When Lindsey wakes up, the space where Emily fell asleep next to her is empty.

She can hear the tap running in the kitchen, though, the sound of coffee being made.

For a second, it’s almost as if nothing happened, as if it’s just another day and Lindsey is waking up by herself, listening to the sound of Emily rummaging through the apartment. It’s like they’re going to get ready for soccer practice, fighting over who gets to pick the music on the their way to the stadium.

But Lindsey is naked, and it’s New Year’s day, and they had sex last night—so nothing is the same.

She gets to her feet a little shakily, pulling a pair of soft shorts and a hoodie out of her closet. She’s still half asleep, feeling disoriented as she puts the clothes on. Only when she catches sight of herself in the bathroom mirror—hair messed up, a line of hickeys down the side of her neck—she snaps awake.

_Fuck_.

It really happened, then.

She pulls the collar of her hoodie down a little bit, brushing her fingers over another mark, lower, just under her clavicle. There’s a strangle sort of mix of pride and uncertainty in her body. She bites down on her lip, takes a breath, tries to tame her hair, then pushes herself to step away from the mirror.

When she walks into the kitchen, Emily is in front of the stove, making eggs.

She’s got a half empty coffee mug in her hand, is wearing nothing but her underwear and one of Lindsey’s t-shirts—

Just like that, Lindsey feels shy.

She makes a weird sort of sound, because she doesn’t really know whether to say _hi_ or not, and Emily spins around. “Hey…”

She’s got the softest smile on her face, and Lindsey blushes. “Hi.”

“I’m making eggs,” Emily says, “It’s the only thing we still had in the fridge because we forgot to buy stuff like the idiots we are.” She laughs, the sound of it warming its way through Lindsey’s body. “I hope they haven’t expired. But I guess, as long as we make it to camp without getting sick, we should be fine. I don’t want to see Vlatko’s face when—” She pauses, expression suddenly a little unsure. “What?”

Lindsey has to bite back her smile. “Nothing.”

There’s a tiny blush on Emily’s cheeks now. “You’re giving me a weird look.”

Lindsey steps a bit closer. “It’s just…. I don’t know—you’ve never made me eggs before.”

“Oh.” At that, Emily’s expression changes a bit. She smiles, glances down for a second, before giving Lindsey a look. “First time for everything, I guess.”

There’s something under the words, something hot and flirty. Lindsey feels it flip in her stomach. She grins and Emily grins, too, and it’s a little bit new, the way they’re looking at each other now, but at the same time, it’s nothing all that different.

A moment passes between them, long and _good_ , makes Lindsey feel like her whole body is fluttery and loose, and then Emily’s eyes go wide and she says, “Oh, fuck, the eggs.”

She turns back to the stove and Lindsey pours herself some coffee.

Then, she nudges Emily’s calf with her foot. “Tell me a secret.”

Emily laughs. “Babe, that’s not how it works.”

Lindsey’s breath catches in her throat and Emily’s face goes red, almost as if she didn’t realize she said it. Trying to shake it off, she quickly adds, “It’s a New Year’s thing. You can’t just ask for all my secrets whenever you want to.”

Lindsey, who can only think _babe_ , ignores her. “I’ll go first,” she says, as if Emily hadn’t even said anything. She waits until Emily is looking at her and then says, “I kind of want to know what it’s like to kiss you sober.”

It’s bold.

It’s the first time either of them have actually acknowledged what happened out loud.

Emily is full on blushing now, and Lindsey says, “Your turn. Tell me a secret.”

She can feel her heart speed up when Emily takes a step in her direction, away from the stove. She can feel the way her stomach twists when Emily makes her way into Lindsey’s space, slow and just the tiniest bit hesitant. She can feel it under her skin, when Emily leans up, whispers against Lindsey’s lips, “Not fair. That was _my_ secret.”

The kiss is soft.

Different and real and a little bit shy. Emily tastes of coffee and sleep, and when Lindsey pulls back, the look that Emily gives her works its way right to the center of her chest. She is staring at Lindsey like she can’t quite believe it happened. Like Lindsey is beautiful like this—with her hair tangled and last night’s make up still under her eyes. Like she can’t wait to kiss her again.

That, at least, makes two of them.

Lindsey smiles, pulls Emily closer.

The eggs can wait.

:::

There is no plan for camp.

It’s still so new. They’ve barely had a few days to figure it out, let alone think about the fact that they’re going to be stuck in practice and hotels with all of their closest friends.

It’s not until Rose almost tackles them in the hallway and says, “Did you two have fun at New Year’s?” with a smirk and a wiggle of her eyebrows, that Lindsey even realizes they haven’t talked about it.

Emily freezes. She says, “How did you know?” at the same time that Lindsey says, “No”, and Rose’s expression, flicking back and forth between the two of them, tells them enough.

“Wait, _what_ —” Rose shrieks.

God.

“—I was just trying to make fun of you! Are you—did you— _did you guys actually hook up—_ ”

“ _Rose_!” Lindsey snaps. “Keep your voice down.”

“What?” Rose counters. “Like, this a surprise?”

“Come on, just—”

“Like, we’ve never heard of in-team dating before?”

“Just—” Lindsey starts, feeling heat rise up to her cheeks. “We’re—I don’t—”

She cuts herself off, glances over at Emily, who has gone unusually quiet. Lindsey bites down on her bottom lip. Are they dating? They haven’t really talked about it.

Emily avoids her eyes.

“Just don’t tell anyone,” Lindsey says.

“All right, fine.” Rose rolls her eyes. She smirks. “Fucking finally, though.”

She makes a squealing sound and wraps both of her arms around Lindsey and Emily at the same time, jumping up and down a little bit.

Lindsey feels strange. There’s a tight sort of tension in her chest when she untangles herself from Rose. “We have to get to our rooms.”

Rose smirks. “Don’t do anything dirty on my bed.”

“Shut up,” Lindsey mumbles, already pushing past her, trying to ignore how much she’s blushing.

When they get to the room, Emily still hasn’t said anything.

“Do you want to come in?” Lindsey asks, after she’s stepped inside, not really meeting Emily’s eyes. “Or do you want to go…” She gestures vaguely to Emily’s suitcase. “… unpack or something?”

Instead of answering, Emily pushes through the door and steps into Rose and Lindsey’s room, letting it fall closed behind her “Why did you tell Rose not to say anything to anyone?”

Lindsey feels a rush of confusion go through her body. “Oh, uh—do you…” She frowns. “Should she tell people?”

Emily shrugs, pushes her hands down the front pocket of her hoodie. “I don’t know. Whatever. Apparently not.”

All of a sudden, Lindsey feels like she fucked something up, although she doesn’t really know what.

“I just…” she starts. “We didn’t really talk about it, so I figured…”

“Okay, yeah, fine.” Emily takes a breath. “No worries. Makes sense.”

It doesn’t feel like it makes sense, though. Not with the way that Emily won’t properly look at her. Not with the way she looks kind of small and uncertain, standing at the door in Lindsey’s room, leaning on the handle of her suitcase, like she doesn’t quite know how to position herself.

“I should get unpacked,” Emily says, after a second. “See you in a bit?”

Lindsey nods. “Yeah.” It sounds breezy, forcefully light. “Of course.”

Emily is already turning around, but before she can move away completely, Lindsey reaches out and grabs her wrist, pulling her back.

The kiss is a little sudden.

For a moment, Emily tenses, but then she softens into it and kisses Lindsey back.

When they break apart, Emily’s expression is a little less distant. She gives Lindsey half a smile, whispers, “Okay, bye.”

“Bye.”

Still, the uneasy feeling doesn’t leave Lindsey’s chest, not even when the door has fallen closed behind Emily and she is alone.

:::

They make it through the first few days of camp just fine.

It’s almost like nothing has changed; Lindsey watches sports with Rose, has breakfast with Sammy and Mal, laughs at Emily’s jokes.

The only thing that’s different now, is that she is aware of every single time they touch; of every smile Emily sends her way; of just how often she feels tempted to just lean in and kiss her, even right in the middle of training.

The thing is—

Lindsey is not exactly sure what she wants. Whether she wants people to know or not. On the one hand, she couldn’t give a fuck about what the rest of the team will think, whether they’ll even really take notice of it or not. Apparently, if she’s to believe Rose, it’s not that much of a surprise. It should be fine. She knows that no one will judge them, that their friends will be happy for them.

And it would be so good, to just touch Emily without having to think about it, whenever she wants to.

But the uneasy feeling in her chest runs deeper, tight under her skin in a way she can’t shake off.

The thing is—

When she was with Russell, it made her feel anxious to be seen with him. It made her tense to hold his hand in public, to let him pull her closer to his side for the cameras. She’s not exactly sure why. It’s an uncomfortable place to let her mind go to. Her insecurity has an iron grip on her body, and things have been _so_ different with Emily, sure, but still—

It’s a feeling she can’t shake.

:::

She’s not ready for it to come up again.

Lindsey figured that they’d kind of make their way through camp without addressing their weird conversation, and figure it when they’d get home. But it’s late and Emily’s in her hotel room, because Rose is out with Sam, so Lindsey had texted Emily to come down and suddenly, it’s just the two of them.

She feels shy and good about it at the same time.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

Emily smirks. “Sure.”

She drops herself on Lindsey’s bed while Lindsey fumbles, trying to get Netflix to work on the tv. For some reason, the technology is letting her down, though. The connection seems shaky and Lindsey can’t seem to get the menu to unfreeze, and after a minute or two, she’s starting to get frustrated, because it’s not working, no matter what buttons she pushes on the remote, and she feels nervous about Emily watching her—

“Linds.” Emily’s voice is soft. “Just leave it.”

“You sure?”

Lindsey turns around, feels her heart speed up at the sight of Emily on her bed.

Emily nods, reaches out her hand. “Just come here.”

Lindsey lets herself be pulled onto the bed. Emily looks so soft; hair still a little damp from the shower, wearing an old college hoodie and sweats. They haven’t been alone— _properly_ alone—since camp started, and Lindsey can feel the anticipation simmer in the air between them.

She moves closer to Emily, watches the way Emily’s smile softens, just for her, and then Lindsey leans in and kisses her.

Emily tastes of toothpaste. Her hair smells like Lindsey’s favorite shampoo. Her body is warm and loose, and Lindsey—

_God_.

All she wants is this.

She kisses Emily harder, heating up the space between them, drawing a surprised sort of sound from the back of Emily’s throat as she runs her nails over the bare skin above Emily’s hip.

It won’t go anywhere further than this, she knows that.

They’re at camp. She doesn’t know when Rose will be back.

But just making out with Emily, fully clothed, on a bed in an empty hotel room, is enough to make Lindsey’s heart soar.

“God,” she husks out, pushing her body more on top of Emily’s and moving her mouth to Emily’s neck. “You feel so good. It’s driving me crazy.”

Emily groans. “ _You_ feel good.”

At that, Lindsey stills a bit.

She pulls back, just to look at Emily, the force of the words hitting her hard and sudden. Emily’s eyes are really blue, her breathing slightly quicker than before. She looks at Lindsey like she’s never looked at anyone else, and Lindsey—

Lindsey is going to fall in love with her.

“You really mean that?” Her voice is soft and quiet.

Emily’s mouth parts. “What? Yes, of course I mean that.”

Lindsey swallows hard. She moves onto her side, feeling so overwhelmed that she needs to steady herself a bit.

Emily’s hand comes up to stroke her hair back. “You okay?” she says. “What’s—”

“With Russell—” Lindsey starts, and Emily has always been able to see right through her, so maybe she knows already, but still Lindsey still feels like she should _say_ it. “I always felt like… like I was embarrassing him somehow. Like, I’d always be too much or too big or not good enough or—”

“Hey,” Emily cuts her off. She looks at Lindsey, close and serious. “Listen to me. You’re not too much.” The corner of her mouth curls up in the softest smile. “You’re so fucking perfect that I can’t believe you don’t see it.”

Lindsey feels her throat constrict.

Emily kisses her, then whispers, “I will say it, over and over and over again. You feel so good. And you look so good. And you _are_ so good. Do you hear me?”

Lindsey nods, presses her face into the crook of Emily’s neck.

“Yeah,” she says.

Emily wraps herself so close around Lindsey’s body that she can’t feel anything else—can’t feel anything but warmth and soft skin and the way Emily kisses her like it’s all she ever wants to do.

:::

“Do you want to run another lap, just to get—what are you looking at?”

Lindsey snaps out of her staring. “What?”

Rose’s mouth curls into a suspicious smirk. “Why do you keep glaring at Kelley like that?”

Lindsey scoffs. “I’m not.”

She _is_ , though.

In fact, she can’t seem to focus on anything else but the opposite side of the field, where Kelley is currently rubbing sunblock onto Emily’s shoulders and saying something close to her ear that makes Emily crack up.

Something clenches in Lindsey’s stomach.

“It’s just—I mean, what is taking them so long?” Lindsey says. “Is Sonny physically incapable of getting sunblock on her _own_ shoulders?” She narrows her eyes. “Like, why does _Kelley_ have to do it for her?”

Rose makes a sound. “Oh my god.”

Lindsey glares at her. “Don’t. Don’t say it, Rose. I’ll—”

“You’re jealous,” Rose laughs. “You’re jealous of _Kelley_ —who has a _girlfriend._ ”

Lindsey pushes her. “Shut up, Rose.”

Rose doubles over laughing.

And okay, _fine_.

She doesn’t want to admit it, but maybe Lindsey _is_ a little bit jealous. Whatever.

Kelley makes Emily spin around, and Lindsey watches as she brings her fingers to Emily’s face and rubs sunblock over her cheekbones, tapping the tip of her nose, and—

That’s enough.

All it takes is one well-aimed kick, and then Lindsey’s soccer ball is soaring through the air, landing hard against the side of Kelley’s thigh.

She jogs after it, already putting her hand up in the air. “Sorry! My bad.”

Kelley has a teasing sort of smile on her face when Lindsey reaches them. “Were you aiming for my bad ankle, Horan?”

Lindsey frowns. “What—no, I was—”

Kelley grins. “Don’t worry. She’s all yours.”

She nudges Emily towards Lindsey with her hip and then runs off, like nothing even happened.

Emily has got a hand on her hip, looking unfairly good in her tank top. The sunlight is making her hair look extra shiny, and all Lindsey wants to do is pull Emily in by her hips and kiss her.

Instead, she says, “All UV-protected, then?”

Emily laughs. “What?”

Lindsey feels herself pout a little bit. “Kelley sure took her sweet time putting sunblock on you.”

“Oh.” Emily grins. “I see what this is.” She takes a step closer to Lindsey, her eyes glinting as she adds breezily, “Kelley just knows the importance of taking care of her body.” She locks eyes with Lindsey. “That’s why her skin always looks so smooth and good. I mean—I would know, with all the photographic evidence I’ve got on my phone.”

Lindsey feels white hot with jealousy, can’t decide between strangling Emily and kissing her. “I hate you so much right now.”

Emily’s never looked more smug. “Really? Because you look a little flushed.”

“Tell me you’re going to delete those pictures.”

“Why?” Emily fires back. “Are you jealous? “

“I’m not jealous,” Lindsey says, but her voice is hoarse and Emily _knows_ that she is.

“You know…” Emily says, taking another step, so that they’re almost touching. “If you could, you could always send me some yourself, of course. Then I wouldn’t need Kelley’s anymore.”

Lindsey scoffs, tries to ignore the way she’s blushing. “You’re not getting anything from me.”

“No?” Emily presses on. “What if I miss you? Don’t you want me to think about you? Don’t you want me to…” She trails off, but keeps her eyes on Lindsey on purpose, watching the way the words fall. Lindsey feels her whole body heat up at the thought.

God.

She _really_ wants to kiss her.

Instead, she hears herself say, “I don’t just send pictures like that to anyone, you know.” She waits a beat, makes direct eye contact. “If you want my nudes, you’ll have to be my girlfriend first.”

Emily’s expression changes instantly, and Lindsey feels a thrill of pride at being able to shake her up a bit.

“That’s—uh—” Emily blushes, and Lindsey feels good, feels powerful, feels wanted.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” she says. “I want you to be.”

She can see the way Emily’s throat bobs as she swallows. “Really? You want—”

Lindsey nods. “In fact, I’ll tell you another one. I want you to be my girlfriend and I want you to kiss me.”

Emily’s gaze darkens, goes hungry.

Lindsey steps forward, just a little bit, says. “Your turn. Tell me a—

“No,” Emily says. “It’s _not_ a secret.”

And then she steps forward and kisses Lindsey, hard, right in the middle of the soccer pitch, during their morning warm up.

It only takes a second for Lindsey to fall into it.

Somewhere next to them, cheering erupts, but all Lindsey feels is the way Emily’s fingers slide up to the back of her neck, the way Emily’s other hand grips her hip, the way—

The way she’s kissing Lindsey like she wants everyone to see.

Like she wants everyone to know.

Because it’s not a secret.

Because Emily wants Lindsey more than anyone has ever wanted her, and it’s not something private; Lindsey deserves to be with someone who will show her off—and _damn it_ , she _does._

Someone next to them—Rose or Ashlyn or Kelley—whistles loudly, and for a second Lindsey breaks away.

Emily’s eyes are bright and shiny, and Lindsey laughs, feels better than she ever has.

When she kisses Emily again, it’s the easiest thing in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> What did you guys think?! TELL ME EVERYTHING. I love hearing your thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:
> 
> How are we feeling? Are we liking this? What would you like to see in part II? Happy 2020, friends!


End file.
